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N-^ York !''.609 USA ',^S wl6J 482 ■ 300 - Phone ^S (^^6) 288 - 5989 - Fqx I, J . i Comrades y^ ' TRAILS G.E.THEODORE RCBERTi v-^ •^x -; 7 '. * '"-vsi '\^ - y -^' w-^^. ■, s ■■'.-' -<. >? -^i» X^ ««■ . -J * *^^ '■* ">-, - :i^ ■ii|"li«lj L«I|K ■ --.-.ic».-.>.-.»i-f ^ ^.. . ^ „ i k v^-- rx 7J I i ;.JJ .^^ ^. *^' ^ : f -^ ,.-v •\ . J V-'i. >-. "SSi t Knyi i HTOTT'giiF- •^' '"''^•■~^'''-^--Tr~'^^f'"'rr--ir tiywtxt'jfnrin'tr, -r-— ^^----»----'";ifT^ CANADA NATIONAL LIBRARY BIBLIOTHEQUE NATIONALE (tlamtuhtB of iM^ 1 -^^^ WORKS OF G. E. THEODORE ROBERTS The Red Feathers Comrades of the Trails Flying Plover A Cavalier of Virginia Hemming the Adventurer Brothers of Peril Captain Love $1.50 1.50 1.00 1 SO 1.50 1.50 1.50 L. C. PAGE & COMPANY PUBLISHERS BOSTON, MASS. UK THIKK T(J KK( All. In HIS MIMI All. ril.\T UK ll.\l( F.VF.K READ ABOIT TllK IIKAKS (iK THIS i(ir\IK\." (Sei- iu>;e 44) ■D ^AD 44> ^TTOIfe I ajT- v.. «iC\ •■;, 9,. ■'¥," ■-*■ *.^- 3 /> . IJ 227232 Copyright, 1910 By L C. Page & Compawt ;i.VOORI'OKATKU) All riffftin reserved First Inipressiun, June, 1910 Tf'J^ C O I. O .\ I A r PRESS C. }l . Simonds &= < V , Boston. L'. S. A . CONTENTS CHAPTIR I. Realizing His Dreams II. Sober Sam and His Canoe III. The Ctory of Pierre Lacross, the Half- breed Trapper. Two - Fox Pond IV. Bruin on the Portage. Signs of a Thijif V. A Hair-raising Night. A Strangj Dis- covery IN the Morning . VI. VII. Sober Sam Respects the Spirit of the Dead Half - breed. The Wolves . I 17 29 43 56 69 A Wrenched Ankle. Sober Sam's Remark- able Discovery g VIII. More Signs of the Queer Thief • . , 16 IX. Sober Sam's Adventure Is Continued . jqq X. Trappers' Luck. The Moose -yard. The Bull - moose and the Panther . . .124 vi CONTENTS XI. The THirr of the Precious Skin, Sober Sam Comes to Grief. The Knif - and Its Owner 137 XII. A Lost Chance. Dick Works Hard. The Two Lynx i^ XTII. Lost. Night in the Snow - storm, r. Glimpse of a Shadowy but Familiar Form. A Timely Breakfast 164 XIV. Dick Sets Out to Catch the Thief. He Finds the Trail of the Round Snow- shoes. The Trailer Trailed. The At- tack AND THE Rescue 17?, XV. A Queer Nurse and a Queerer Companion. Fragments of the Wild Man's Past 184 XVI. The Fever Grips Dick Hard. The Wild Man's Troubles 197 XVII. The Wild Man's Past Adventures Con- tinued. The Doctor's Depravity. The Empty Box 209 XVIII. The Wild Man's Early Adventures, Con- cluded. The Fever Leaves Dick . M2 XIX. Sober Sam's Troubles and Anxiety. He Sets Out, at Last, to Look for His Vanished Partner. A Queer Meeting 234 XX. Sober Sam Finds His Partner. Job Gets a Fright ........ 247 CONTENTS VII XXI. Sam and the Wild Man Hunt Togbthbs, Sam iNfjUiREs /.bout Stolen Black Fox Skin, and RECiiivEs No Satisfaction . a6o XXII. The Moose. Dick's Rifle and Some Traps Come to Light. The Crowning Discoveky 273 XXIII. Flap -jacks. Dick Returns to the Shack. Joe Remembers to Some Purpose . 285 XXIV. Spring. The Way Oot 207 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGB " He tried to recall to his mind all that he had EVER READ ABOUT THE BEARS OF THIS COUNTRY " (See .„P'«^^> Frontispiece High up in the leafless sapling ... was a small bear -like beast " " It was advancing, walking upright like a man " " Across his shoulders, close to the base of the black VECK, clung a panther" "Dick, heedless of the danger that menaced him, tramped forward along the trail" 68 "7 130 177 M tr ... ^,f HE RAN DOWN A YOUNG MOOSE " . ,— -mii." -h-i .kI COMRADES OF THE TRAILS CHAPTER I REALIZING HIS DREAMS From far away the voice came and whispered in my ear. I heard the wind in the spruces and the rapids shouting dear. I saw the smoke of the little fires stream no to greet the day ; So I packed my kit and followed the voice North and West and away. At last Dick Ramsey stood on the very edge of the land of his dreams and ambitions. Be- yond lay forests of spmce and pine that even the axes of adventurous lumbermen had not taken toll of, and rivers that were but suspicions to the map-makers, and wide barrens across which the hoofs of the caribou herd, had worn knee-deep traits in the brown loam. Dick Ramsey stood at the end of the last man- made road — at the " jumping-off place " as Billy Bhint called it. To reach this spot Dick > ) 'I /• 2 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS had made a long and vaned journey. First, in the snug and speedy railway carriages of Home he had raced across England to Li\-erpool. From there in a great Canadian liner, he had crossed the Atlantic and steamed up the St. Lawrence River to Quebec. From that old new-world city on its historic crag he had approached the unknown land of his dreams by means of three railways. The first of these railways had inspired his admiration; the second had reminded him of his ocean vcjyage; the third had filled him with dismay, so violently had the little engine and the clattering carriage lurched and pitched and swayed along the risky road-bed. By these means he had come at last to Wolf's Landing. At this little lumber village on Wolf's River he had spent two weeks, gathering information, completing his outfit and arranging for the final stages of his great adventure. From Wolf's Landing a French-Canadian named Peter Lavois had transported Dick and his kit, in a farm-wagon, thirty miles across country, along something that Peter called a road but that the young Englishman had no name for, to McDodd's Camp on the Little Beaver. At McDodd s Camp Billy Blunt had taken him in charge. Billy be- longed to the lumber camp and was a teamster of REALIZING HIS DREAMS 3 great and hard-won reputation in those parts. At this season of the year — early October — it was his work to haul provisions in to the diffo-ent branch camps ; and as the ways along which duty called him were not fit for even the strongest wheels, being composed of a terrible mixture of roots, stumps, mud-holes and boulders, he did his hauling on a low sled. So on this sled he had piled Dick Ramsey's outfit and fastened it down with several hundreds of feet of rope. To the sled he had hitched his team of two rough-coated, wise, powerful horses — and then they had started for the " jumping-oft place." Now, standing at the end of the last man-made road, with his face toward the vast wilds in which he was about to seek his fortune, Dick Ramsey remembered that journey with wonder. Though it was called twenty-five miles they had toiled and floundered for two whole days to accomplish it. As Bill_y Blunt had said: "Oh, yes! Twenty-five mile all '•^'ght — a/ong/ — an' fifty mi.e up and down! " Now that it was behind him, Dick began to see the funny side of it. During the journey he had seen only the under-side of mud and water and the top-side o. sttmips, rocks and roots. He was <>'.71T,', ii 4 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS caked with black mud to his arm-pits. He was spattered with it to the crown of his soft felt hat. His hands were begrimed and scratched, from numerous tumbles, and his high-topped moccasins were full of clay and water. He looked at the horses, now quietly eating their oats, and saw that they, too, were coated with the black mud through which they had plunged so valiantly. On Dick's right, as he faced the further and untested trails of the wilderness, stood a deserted shack that had been built, ten years ago, by a half- breed trapper. Behind the shack arose a high hill, its sides clothed with towering spruces, rank on rank. On his left a steep bank sloped down to the narrow, brawling waters of Little Beaver. Beyond the river the land rose steeply again, with thick, gloomy forests of pine and spruce on its strong shoulders. Before the shack squatted Billy Blunt, busily engaged in frying bacon at a little fire. Westward, the sun was dipping its lower rim behind the crests of the far hills and flooding the dusky spires of the forest with crim- son. "Well," murmured Dick, cheerfully, as he scraped a hand- full of half-dry mud off the front of his short blanket "jumper," "this is even REALIZING HIS DREAMS 5 finer than I expected. What wouldn't the fellows at home give for a day's fun over that thing they call a ' haulin' road ' in this country?" He stepped over to the fire and sat down beside Billy Blunt. His interest in frying-pan and tea- kettle was keen. " Guess I'll stop right here to-night," said Billy, " an' light out fer home on the back trail at sun-up. Sober Sam '11 be here by then, I reckon." He glanced up from the frying bacon and met the young Englishman's eyes. " I guess you'll do, young feller," he continued. " You be sound, anyhow, wind, limb an' temper. Thunder an' turf ! it was as good as a show to see you in them bog-holes — an' as polite as an Injun all the time. Many's the greenhorn I've seen who would be back along the trail still, a-cussin' them holes." Dick grinned. He was highly pleased by the woodsman's praise. "I'm afraid I would not be of much use in this country if I lost my temper every time I came to a bad place in the trail," he said. "That's right," returned Blunt. " Cussin' never yet put a bottom to a bog, or resined a canoe. Injuns know that — an* their grandfathers knowed it afore them — an' so they keep their WPBi* 6 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS i: mouths shut no matter how tearin' mad they feel. I knowed an Injun once, brother to this here Sober Sam, who got afloat on a pan of ice one spring-time on Wolf's River. He floated down stream for three days afore the chance came for him to get ashore. He hadn't anything to eat, neither, for his whole outfit — toboggan, grub, traps an' pelts — had all gone through the ice. Well, I w-as handy when he come ashore. Did he cuss an' tear? Not him. ' Dat almighty heap cold v'yage, Billy,' said he. Ay, them was his identical words." "Good for him!" exclaimed Dick Ramsey, heartily. " Is Sober Sam as sound in the temper as his brother? " " Don't worry about Sober Sam," returned the lumber- jack. " I've given you my word for him, an' I've told him to meet you here at this shack. So don't you worry, young feller. I like you — an' so I am treatin' you white. Sober Sam's a good Injun, an' just the lad to larn you the tricks o' this here forsaken country. . You keep your temper, an' that smoky faced old son of the woods '11 keep his. You treat him square an' he'll do the right thing by you if it takes the hide oflfen him to do it. Treat him like a friend — the way REALIZING HIS DREAMS 7 you treat me — an' Iie'll treat you like you was his brother an' his father an' his son all rolled together. Injuns an' breeds is just the same as us white men — some's good an' some's bad. A good Injun's as good as any v/hite man that ever pulled on a pair o' moccasins. A bad Injim! Well, when you cross the trail o' a bad one you just keep your eye peeled — an' take that from Billy Blunt." After the simple meal of bread, bacon and tea was eaten, Blunt spent ten minutes in scraping the biggest lumps of mud off his horses. Then he put their blankets on and stabled them in the shack. By this time the stars were all aglint and the air had a tang of frost in it. The voice of the Little Beaver boomed up from its rocky valley. A fox barked, far up on the black hill-side. An owl hooted dismally among the high tops of the forest. Blunt enlarged the fire, heapirg wood upon it until it blazed high, sent showers of red sparks aloft and weaved'a wide circle of dancing light around the campers. They talked, and the woodsman smoked his pipe. Soon the talk slack- ened, and grew softer and slower. At last Dick removed his outer garments and crawled into his .i *• 8 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS thick blanket-lined sleeping-bag. In a minute his eyes were closed and the magic radiance of the camp-fire was weaving magic dreams in his brain. And now, while Dick Ramsey sleeps the sleep of youth and hope and honest fatigue, with the roaring of a rock-torn river for his slumber song, on the very threshold of the wild country of his ambitions, let me go back and explain the reason of it all. Richard Ramsey was the second son and third child of the late Major Henry Clinton Ramsey of Foxholm, in Dorset. The major had died just a year before the opening of this sto.y and only a few weeks after Richard had left school. Dick's elder brother was in the Indian Army, and by hard work and a natural knack for soldiering had al- ready made a name for himself by the time of his father's death. The girl, who was four years older than Dick, was married to a young London bamster who was also heir to a very fine property near Foxholm. It was well that two of the three children at least were so comfortably provided for, for after the major's death his affairs were found to be in a bad way. He had retired from the service of his country at too early an age complaining that there would never be any mor^ REALIZING HIS DREAMS 9 fighting and that he was weary of fiddhng away his time in garrison towns. So he resigned his commission and began to teach his tenants, by example, the modem methods of agriculture. The lessons amused the worthy farmers but cost the instructor much money. One of the tenants remarked at the time — " Squire'll soon lam as tumips baint sodgers." Time hung heavily on the major's hands; so, when he had called a halt on his agricultural activities, he turned his atten- tions to the stock market. Enough said ! He was a soldier, not a broker. Living, he hid his scars even from his wife; but he could not hide them after he was dead. Foxholm was sold. Everything else that was worth anything was sold also — horses and car- riages, books and pictures, sheep, homed cattle and farm machinery. Debts were paid, and there was enough lefi for the widow to live on, very quietly. There was nothing left for poor Richard. Now Dick had been an out-door boy since the time of his earliest mem.ories, loving the woods and the fields and the life thereof. It had always been his ambition to become an explorer some day. This worthy ambition had shaped his reading and tinted aU his thoughts. He would enter and mas- 10 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS I I* 'i ter the secrets of the wild and unknown places of the earth, north and south, east and west, pitting his endurance and wit against the quiet, cloaked but gigantic forces of nature. He would prove himself a foeman worthy of her steel — and then she would accept him as ^ friend. He would write books about these strange lands and the people and birds and beasts that inhabited them. It was a boy's ambition ; but it was also a manly and honest one. Most healthy boys dream of something of the kind at one time or another; but in Dick Ramsey it was more than a romantic dream. It was a part of his life, woven into his brain and his heart. Dick and his father had been comrades — so it was not imtil several months after the major's death that Dick looked again at his plans for the future through the new light of his altered condi- tions. But he looked at last, and his heart did not turn from the old a-nbitions. Then people began to ask him what he intended to do. Dick did not commit himself to these idle questioners, but told all his hopes and secrets to his mother. Then it was that the brother-in-law in London offered him a clerical position in his own office. Dick thought of the gloomy office, of the high stools and REALIZING HIS DREAMS 11 scratching pens, of the clanging streets on aU sides. He thought of these things and felt as if his heart had turned to water. " It is very kind of you, Jack," he said, "but — but FU ship be- fore the mast on some rusty old tramp rather than begin my life perched up on one of those beastly stools." So that was the end of that. Many hard things were said about poor Dick; but neither the mother nor the brother in India said a word — just then. Dick was for breaking away at -nee; but his mother asked him to wait a little longer. By this time Mrs. Ramsey was established in a small house in a London suburb, within easy reach of her daughter. About three weeks after Dick had refused the stool in his brother-in-law's office, and when he was growing fairly desperate with impatience and wounded pride, his mother entered his bedroom early one morning, before he was up. A letter that she had been watching for had arrived by the first post. But she had two letters in her hand. She kissed him tenderly and then sat down on the edge of his bed. She was smiling — but there were tears in her eyes. " Here are two letters that will interest you." she said. " Harry's came several days ago; but •aOXTFiC, it"^W.V\f 12 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS 1 1 1 until I heard from your Aunt I kept it Madge." Dick read the letter from India first. This is the part of it that most nearly concerned him. "I feel as you do about Dick. He is no more suited to office-work than I am, and it would be a crime to force him into it. I think Canada is the place for him to make his start. There is room enough there for a thousand explorers — and chances for a young fellow with a level head on his shoulders to combine exploration with bread-winning. He might do something at trap- ping, to begin with — if he had enough money to buy an outfit and pay his way into the country. I hope Aunt Madge will lend him a helping hand. Good luck to him — and here are thirty-five pounds that I have managed to scrape together. If he gets his chance I know he wiU make his way in his chosen profession." Dick dared not trust his voice, so turned in silence from his brother's letter to his aunt's. Of hers it is enough to say that she enclosed a draft for two hundred pounds and wrote that she be- Heved firmly in Dick and his dreams. That is how Richard Ramsey got his chance to win his spurs. REALIZING HIS DREAMS 13 Dick set out for the new world with a clear brain but a heart benumbed with the struggle between the joy and wonder at his great chance and grief at parting with his mother. Dick did not buy his outfit in London, for he suspected that he should know better what he needed when nearer the scene of action. He took with him only such clothing as he thought would be useful and hi: shot-gun. This last was a serv- iceable weapon, by a good maker, light, per- fectly balanced and a hard hitter. He felt safe in taking this, for he knew that there are no better fowling-pieces in the wide world than those that are made by English gunsmiths and used by English sportsmen. In the city of Quebec he began to buy his outfit, with great caution. The manager of the bank at which he deposited his money befriended him here. Together they went from shop to shop (or from store to store, as they say there), pricing and selecting. At Wolf's Landing he completed his purchases. Arrived at the end of the last man-made road, the follow- ing articles were in his possession. A rough list of Richard Ramsey's outfit for his first winter in the northern wilderness: — A shot-gun (number twelve, hammerless). A rifle if 14 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS (medium-weight, repeating). A medicine chest, containing quinine, bandages and liniments. A small camera and films. A compass. A fuU- weight axe, a belt-axe and sheath-knives. A frying-pan, kettle, tin mugs and tin plates. One hundred rounds of ammunition for the rifle and half as many more for the shot-gun. Two blan- kets and a sleeping-bag. Half a dozen pairs of oil-tanned moccasins - three pairs with high tops and three without tops. A dozen pairs of woollen socks and stockings, woollen gloves and mittens. Heavy outer and under clothing. A soft felt hat and a fur cap. One pair of snow-shoes (these he could renew in the woods, for every Indian is able to make them). A canister of plug-tobacco, for " trade." Tea, sugar and mola^^es in water- tight tins. jur. corn-meal, pea-meal and rice m small canvas bags. Prunes, currants and evapo- rated apples. Beans (for baking), salt pork, bacon and matches, salt and pepper in tins. Rope. A complete sewing-bag. A dozen steel traps for mink, otter, fox and ermine. And now to return to Dick himself, and Billy Blunt, and the camp at the edge of the trackless wilderness. Thrice, during the night, Blunt sat up in his blankets, tossed more wood on the REALIZING HIS DREAMS 16 fire and sank back again into the dreamless slumber from which the requirements of the fire had only half aroused him. Dick, snug in his sleeping-bag and with his feet to the fire, did not so much as change his position until he awoke at dawn. During those still hours the furtive, wide-eyed life of the wild drew close around the fire. Brown hares, not yet changed into their winter coats of white, hopped from the under- brush into the narrowing circle of red light, sat up on their haunches to listen and look, and then bounced over the bodies of the sleepers and van- ished among the shadows. A big dog fox came down ^- the edge of the camping-place, stood motionless as a stone for several minutes while he sniffed the man-scent and thought matters over, then slipped into the darkness again and con- tinued his silent journey on the trail of the flighty hares. There was no win(^ and a caribou passed the camp through the heavy timber of the hill- side without a sight or a scent of it. A porcupine, who had watched the arrival of the men and horses from his perch in the fork of a big poplar tree, now backed down to the ground and lum- bered into the little clearing before the shack. He moved slowly but without caution, and his quills .«Xt A'*. = «^St -.-'-l^r' ■• 16 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS rustled as he advanced. He was covered with long quills and long, coarse hairs, from the tip of his tail to his eye-brows; but his undersides were unprotected. His sight and hearing were good, however, and he could curl himself into a ball and present nothing but quills to his enemies at a moment's notice. He waddled up to the fire and took a good look at it, examined the sleeping men with interest, snififed at a bacon rind and decided that it was not fit to eat, and then entered the shack to look at the horses. A black bear scrambled up from the river, stared at the fire for a minute or two, and then went down the bank again. At last the high stars began to fade. j;a&i^^Mseiv^v^ie'^::9/%'sc' CHAPTER II SOBER SAM AND HIS CANOE Dick awoke in the grey of the dawn. The fire had fallen and cooled to grey ashes and black cores of wood with here and there a coal still ablink like a red eye. On all sides arose the still, black forests, quiet now and in the half-light blurred into mysterious masses. It seemed as if the whole wilderness, save the Little 3eaver, still lay wrapt in sleep. Dick raised himself on his elbow and looked about him. At the same moment Blunt sat bolt upright, tossed his blankets aside and rubbed open his eyes with his knuckles all in one second. Then he got to his feet, strode to the fire, squatted over it and with swift fingers gathered together a heart of red coals from the dead ashes. With a strip of bark, a few dry twigs and the charred ends of faggots he topped the live coals. Stooping low, he blew softly — and up shot the yellow flame. " I overslep' meself," he said, turning to Dick. 17 18 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS " But I'll be on the back trail pretty soon, for all that." With a tin pail in each hand he started down the steep and brush-tangled bank toward the brawling river, for water for his horses. Dick got out of his sleeping-bag, possessed himself of a towel and a cake of soap and the empty tea-kettle, and fol- lowed Blunt. A trace — a mere ghost — of the half-breed's path still showed, twisting downward between the spruces and firs. Dick footed it cau- tiously, easing himself down by the elastic branches of the trees and keeping the path by the sense of feeling rather than of sight. Before he reached the river he met Blunt returning, scram- bling upward with his pails abrim. At the edge of the racing, clashing waters, the young Englishman felt something of the awe of the vast wilderness — something that almost amounted to a quiet terror. He stood motionless at the edge of the black current, hearkening to the uproar at his feet with senses painfully alert. There seemed to be a hundred voices commingled in the giant voice of Little Beaver — sobbing and shouting, cries high and low, harsh roarings and gentle pleadings. It is a terrific sound at first, this outcry of rapids strong with the autumil ~i^m^^m^3m% SOBER SAM AXD HIS CANOE 19 rains; but in time one learns to love it and hear no \ lire of menace in it. White nil,, veiled the torn bosom of the river i-vaving and drifting, lifting and sinking in long,' fiuJ vvio^ : ^vith the commotion beneath. Stead- ily and swiftly the sky brightened above the shaggy valley and the mist thinned and vanished from the water. Dick Ramsey smiled, at last at his own timidity. The air was decidedly crisp- but he stripped and stepped cautiously into the shallow water. Wow! but it was cold. Standing scarcely ankle-deep, and afraid to move his feet an inch for dread of the deep and raging current, he splashed himself all over and, without waiting to make use of the soap, skipped ashore and ap- phed the towel to his glowing skin. He dressed hke lightning, filled the kettle with water for the morning tea, and then scrambled up the bank He felt wonderfully fresh and strong. Beside the fire he found Billy Blunt frying bacon and grinning. " I seen you." said Blunt. " If I hadn't by gmger I'd never believe it. Well, it do beat the Dutch, for sure ! Dang my eyes! " " What is the trouble? " asked Dick " You must be aU-fired dirty, youngster, to !SF 't 20 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS take a wash in Little Beaver on a momin' like this," said Blunt. " It freshens a feUow — wakes him up." replied Dick. "Oh! this be a free country," returned the woodsman. " But for me, I'd a long shot sooner stay asleep nor wake meself up that a-way. But every man to his own special brand o' foolishness, say I — so long as it don't hurt other folks I'd give a dollar for a sight o' Sober Sam first time he sees you up to that trick. Thunder an' turf I he'll think you be tryin' to commit susanside sure. He gets all the washin' he wants when he falls in, by accident -an' he ain't done that more'n once in his whole life, I reckon." Dick laughed good-naturedly and helped him- self to bacon and bread. He knew, instinctively that the woodsman meant no offence by his re- marks about the morning bath. Dick had taken some trouble, since leaving the city of Quebec, to learn the nature of a backwoods joke, for he knew that his success largely depended' on his ability to keep on friendly terms with the rough fello-vs who have their work and being in and about the fringes of the great wilderness. The sun was in sight, bright as fire but colourless 7:^^m^r<:^:WJ§^': teX*.r SOBER SAM AND HIS CANOE 21 as glass, by the time the two had finished their breakfast. The sky was pale blue and without mgle cloud. Billy Blunt led the horses from the shack, preparatory to his departure along the back trail. Dick remained seated by the fire gazing around at the wealth of dark green forests that hemmed him in. Suddenly, a strange figure appeared at the top of the bank - a squat figure with bowed legs, clothed in shapeless garments of no particular colour, and gripping a long, white, spruce pole in one hand. " Howdy, brother," said the stranger, without removmg his short, powerful-looking pipe from his mouth. Dick was too greatly astonished by the stranger's sudden and rer kable appear- ance to answer; but Blunt tume. at the sound of the voice and hurried forward. "Howdy Sober Sam," he cried. " Thought you'd turn up afore long. How's tricks, old boy? " Sober Sam removed his pipe from his mouth and grinned broadly. "Good! Heap good" said he. " Plenty water in Little Beaver, yes. Too much, maybe. Dat a'right." He and Billy shook hands like old and valued friends. Then Billy turned to Dick. " Here's the youngster I sent you word about," he said. 22 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS " He's good friend o' mine, an' wants to get on good fur-country. He wants you to larn hirn the tricks o' the trade an' work along with him. He'll treat you right, Sam. WTiat d'ye, st ;? " "Dat a'right," replied the swarthy redskin, looking at the young Englishman with bright but kindly black eyes. " What you call him.? " " Dick Ramsey," replied Richard, smiling. "Dat a'right. Heap fine name, yes. What you pay, Dick?" ^^ "I want to pay what is fair," replied Dick; " but, mind you, I am in here on business and not just for fun. Suppose the three of us talk it over, while you have something to eat, Sam." Sober Sam ate very fast end talked very slowly; but in half an hour the business was ar- ranged to every one's satisfaction. BiUy Blunt did must of the talking and, though he had no stake in the expedition, explained Dick's case to Sober Sam in a masterly manner. So, without any sign of haggling on either side, a fair agreement was come to between Richard Ramsey and Sober Sam. No papers were signed ; but the two shook hands, looking squarely into each other's eyes. " It suits me." said the Enghshman, " and I feel sure that we shall get along splendidly together." -^■ri^^PTB' SOBER SAJVI AND HIS CANOE 23 " Dat a'right. Dick, you bet. Me a'mighty good inan at de fur-takin'," returned Sober Sam Ten minutes later, BiUy Blunt hitched his team to the sled, bade good-bye to his old friend and his new, and started courageously back toward the stumps and mud-holes of yesterday Sober Sam drained the last drop of tea out of he tm kettle and devoured the last slice of bacon from the pan. Then he wiped his wide mouth on the back of his hand and produced his pipe from a pocket of his patched and weather-stained jumper. After knocking the ashes out of the bowl he looked inquiringly at his companion. What lak your tobac, Dick.? " he aoked Dick took the somewhat broad hint and speedily opened one of his bags and produced a plug of tobacco that he had put in a handy place for just such a toe as this. " I think it is good." he said, though I have not tried it myself. I want to grow for another year or two before I begin smoking." ^" '' You plenty big," .aid the other, taking the tobacco and swiftly dicing off a pipefull of it with this, Dick? " he asked, anxiously. Dick reassured him on this point by showing ':m2rMfi"' -jisa^B^^r^-^^^^BiLm. f ]l IS 24 COxMRADES OF THE TRAILS him the sealed canister. When his pipe was well alight, the old fellow got slowly to his moc- casined feet and began a minute survey of Dick's belongings. Now and again he nodded his head. Now and again he put a brief question. " Dat good outfit," he said, at last, "but a'mighty heavy, you bet! Heap big load for one canoe. Dick. Dat right, yes. But we tak him a'right." it was a big load and no mistake, and Dick wondered how the old fellow would manage it. But Billy Blunt had warned Sober Sam of the size of the outfit and so Sam had brought his largest canoe dovn from Two-Fox Pond— a strong, wide but heavy craft fully twenty-two feet in length. As the birch-bark canoes of this region usually run from sixteen to nineteen feet in length, this of Sober Sam's was a giant among its kind. They carried the outfit down the twisting path to the edge of the river. There lav the canoe lifted just clear of the water. The Indian slipped It back into the stream, in an eddy behind a big rock, and told Dick to hold it in position. Then he loaded it, leaving room in the bow for Dick and in the strrn for himself. There were two paddles and an extra pole already aboard. At '^N^i 'mrj^ SOBER SAM AND HIS CANOE 25 last everything was stowed to the old man's taste. With his pole in one hand and gripping the gumiel with the other he steadied the canoe while Dick crawled forward to his place. Ti.o canoe lay in an eddy of comparatively quiet water, with her low, sharp bow almost touch- mg the big, sheltering rock. Beyond that narrow haven the river raced and bellowed, breaking into white " ripples " in a hundred places. Dick sat very still, his heart a-flutter with excitement and wondered how one old man could dream of forcing a canoe up that swiriing way. fair in the white and clashing teeth of those furious tons of water. But he asked no questions. This was one of the lessons of the new life that he had to learn He glanced apprehensively at the churning rapids wondered, and hoped for the best. Presently he saw that the bow of the canoe was slipping sideways along the face of the boulder toward the outer tumult. Slowly, steadily it moved: and now it hung in the racing current and he felt the grip of the water churning beneath him. Like a sharp and solid rock the bow of the canoe stood motionless against the force of the nver crowned and edged with spray. And now. wonder of wonders, it began to sUp up against ft ' t I h A: J! 26 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS all that roaring madness — slowly, smoothly, unflinchingly. Again it hung motionless, while the white and black water tossed and shouted around it and gripped at its spray-hidden sides. Again it crawled forward. Again it hung, giving not so much as an inch to the thrust of the stream. And thus, yard by yard, with wonderful cunning, old Sober Sam and his long spruce pole slid the loaded canoe up through the Push-an'-be-dam' rapids. Twice they rested during the climb, each time slipping aside into an eddy under the wooded bank. It was noon when the unbroken water above the rapids was reached, and Sam ran the nose of the long craft agamst a soft spot in the bank and remarked that it was time to " bil- de kittle." Dick lost no time in scrambling ashore. His legs were cramped and his head still rang with the tumult of the waters through which they had just passed. Here was a strip of low, grass-grown shore. On both sides of the river the country was flatter here than farther down stream. Great cedars slanted out of the dusky forests and hung their ragged branches over the water. The river ran black and fairiy swift, but unbroken by rocks and urn xed by shallo^^■s. Here its voice was ^^t SOBER SAM AND HIS CANOE 27 no more than a murmur. But the clamour of the rapids still pulsed in the air. Sober Sam was as fresh as if he had not lifted a hand smce sun-up. He secured the canoe by dragging it for half its length on to the soft grass I'hen, with his axe, he splintered a dry " butt; " and in another minute had a fire goin? merrily. ^ "We go easy till sun-down," he said "so iraybe you get rifle ready. You get shot, maybe at moose or somethin'. Dis a'mighty good country." Dick was delighted with the suggestion, and immediately unpacked his new rifle and a dozen cartridges. " Is it a good trapping-country, too? " he asked. Sam nodded. " 01' Pierre Lacross. his country dis," he said. " Plenty mink, plenty otter, heap fox, too. Good country, yes." " Does Pierre Lacross live on the river? " asked Dick. " BiUy did not mention him to me. I thought there was no shack between the end of the road and yours on Two-Fox Pond." " BiUy, him not long on Little Beaver." repHed the Indian. " Dat shack you camp by las' night — dat Pierre's shack, yes." i I 28 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS li But nobody lives there, now. It is deserted." " Dat a'right, Dick. Pierre Lacross, him dead six-seven year back; but Pierre still trap on dis country, yes." ! I 1* 1^ t rrt M- y^ffi?^ CHAPTER III THE STORY OP PIERRE LACROSS. THE HALF - BREED TRAPPER. TWO - FOX POND Young Dick Ramsey stared in amazement at his smoky-faced guide. Was the old fellow making fun of him? No, there was not a twinkle in the black eyes. " But you have just said that he is dead. Dead men don't trap! " exclaimed Dick. ^^ Sam was slicing fat salt pork into the pan. I^Dat maybe so — in you country," he said; "but on Little Beaver — well, dat right what I say. Pierre, him dead a'right-but still him trap dis country, yes." " That is a queer story," said Dick. " I can't quite swallow such a steep yarn as that, Sam. Have you ever seen him at work — since his death? Seeing is believing, you know." " Maybe," replied the redskin, calmly. " See a'mighty queer tings, me. Anyhow, tell you queer story 'bout Pierre Lacross." He told the story while they ate their pork 2d i I ' f I II f; I 1 ir 30 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS and buckwheat " flap-jacks " ami drank their tea. Plere it is: but not quite in Sober Sam's own words. Pierre Lacrosse was a French breed who ap- peared suddenly, one autumn, on the head- waters of Little Beaver, from no-one-knows- where. He was all alone. McDodd was not lumbering on the lower river then, and that is where Pierre commenced his trapping. Sober Sam. going down the river one day. in January, on his snow-shoes, stopped at Pierre's camp.' The half-breed did not seem at all pleased with the visit and failed to invite Sam to take so much as a mug of tea. Pierre seemed unstrung, and could not sit still for a minute. He kept looking around all the time and cocking his head sideways as If listening for something. All tnese things soon got on Sam's nerves; so he speedily hit the trail again and put five miles between himself and Pierre's shack before halting to boil his kettle. He had a long journey before him. for he was bound for Wolf's Landing, to buy provisions. A wolver- ine had torn into his stores and upset his calcula- tions. That night, and the next, he slept in the snow, in a deep trench with a fire at his feet. Well, Sam got his flour and pork and returned to STORY OF PIERRE LACROSS 31 Two-Fox Pond without calling on Pierre on his return trip. He did not sc-e the half-l.reed again until several years later. When the lumbermen commenced operations on the lower waters of Little Beaver, Pierre La cross moved farther up stream and built a shack beside J^usl.-an'-be-ciam' rapids. Now there was a ycning man named Running Thunder, with a squaw and two papcx^ses. already trapping that country. It was ^x^d country (perhaps vou would not find any ^ . . if you went all the way up to Hudson Bay), anu had been in the family of Running Thunder for many generations. So big was the region, and so lonely, that the young man did not know that a stranger was taking toll of his own forests and streams until the middle of the first winter. Then, making the round of his traps one February morning, he happened upon Pierre's trail in the snow. By the marks of the racquets he knew that the poacher (for Pierre was nothing else, according to the laws of the wilderness) was not a man of his own tribe The snow-shoes of his tribe were not so long as these impressions in the snow; also, they were wider in the frame and the thongs were not strung in the same way. All these things were as easily 'H t I': * I ■ ' t 1 i l« 32 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS read by Running Thunder as a printed page by you. But he learned more than this from the marks in the snow. The poacher was light of weight and carried no load. He was long of leg, and fresh. A man without a load must have his headquarters somewhere near. Therefore he was not a traveller, but a trapper -and he was trapping in Running Thunder's own country. Again the young man stooped low over the tell- tale marks in the snow and read that the trespasser had passed this way within the hour. He hung his three fresh fox skins in a tree, along with the frozen carcasses of two hn-es that he had found in his wire nooses, and ah his rifle in his hand set off on the straiT'cr's trail at a brisk trot. It was about noon when Running Thunder caught sight of Pierre Lacross. Pierre halted and turned, and trembled like dry grass in a wind. The young man told him, in broken French, that he mu.^t stop taking furs in the Little Beaver country, between Push-an'-be-dam' rapids and Two-Fox Pond. All the time that he was talking the other continued to tremble and glance from side to side. " I see that you have the shadow of fear in your soul even now," said Running Thunder, "and ^^^m-^w^:^^^^^^w^m STORY OF PIERRE LACROSS 33 I teU you, by the spirit of my father, you wiU have a new fear in your heart if you do not go out of my country before the new moon." Then Pierre Lacross answered, with his teeth chattering, " I will stay here. I have gone to many places, even in the settlements, and have found no rest. So here I mean to stay." " Very good," replied Running Thunder " I see, at a glance, that you are a man ridden by black memories. But I will not have you in my trapping-grounds, for I have a family to keep and need all the pelts -and you may bring a curse on this country. On the night of the new moon I wiU come to your shack - and if you are there 1 will send your spirit away even though your body may stay." Pierre did not seem to mind the threat. He scarcely seemed to heed it, but kept glancing around him, on every side. •' My spirit will stay here," he said. " This is a safe country." Running Thunder went back to his lodge wondering what the trouble was in the poacher's m:nd. It was .something very black, for he had seen the shadow of it in the shifting eyes. How- ever, he felt no pity, for the half-breed's face was [I. It: iH \ ! ii t;. ! i S.' l-ii 34 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS bad. He returned to his smoky lodge, far over on the flank of Lonely Mountain, gave the frozen hares to his squaw, cleaned and stretched the fox skins, and smoked his pipe for a long time. He did not say a word of the poacher to his squaw. Nine days and nights passed away and the new moon, as thin as a shaving in the lap of a paddle-maker, hung in the frosty sky. Running Thimder, quiet as a shadow, moved over to the one tiny window in Pierre's shack. He held his old, muzzle-loading rifle in his hand. He saw a red :-hadow of fire-light against the frosted glass. He knocked on the pane with his gloved knuckles, and then (being of a cautious turn of mind) held one of his racquets across the window. Crack went a rifle in the cabin, and the glass broke tinkhng and the netting of the snow-shoe was ripped. Running Thunder let a terrible, screeching groan out of him and dropped the snow-shoe. Ther he brought his rifle up to his shoulder and turned around on his feet. He was smiling to think what would have happened to him if he had put his face in front of the little window. The light was misty with star-shine but enough for his purpose. He heard the door of the shack It 1, ; F STORY OF PIERRE LACROSS 36 swing open. He heard incautious footsteps on the packed snow. Then Pierre Lacross appeared around the comer, anxious to take a look at his victim. But he never saw him. Running Thunder aimed dehberately and pulled the trigger. Running Thunder wrought according to his lights — and they, like the star-shine, were some- what misty. But a man must defend his rights. Also, had not the stranger fired the first shot? He had no mind to get the law on his trail, however — for sometimes the law reached its arm even up into that vast wilderness. Now, Running Thun- der knew well that the law of the wilds and the law of the courts did not 'agree on all points, and he had no wish to set them clashing. He had done his duty — and the less known of it the better. So he stripped the cold body of the poacher and burned the clothing on the fire that still danced on the hearth. Then, leaving the cabin as he had found it — save for the presence of the owner, — he dragged the naked body far away across the frozen snow. At last he un- fastened the thong by which he had drawn it along, and left it lying stiff and slim in the misty star-shine. " The foxes will pick his bones," he said. It was dawn when he got back to his M I f' I, !iii 'V > iiii > 5 iff I if H ill 36 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS lodge. He said nothing of his night's work to his sqviaw. It was not until May that any questions were asked about Pierre Lacross. It was a tall, red- haired policeman from Quebec who was looking for the half-breed. He had some men from Wolf's Landing with him. Well, there was Pierre's shack, anyway. The door was open; the frying-pan lay on the floor beside the hearth; a gold watch hung on a nail at the head of the bunk; there were snow-shoes, rifle, tea-kettle, everything. A bear had torn open several bags of provisions and a pair of mice had built a nest among the blankets in the bunk. But the trapper was gone. Yes, he had been gone a long while — two or three months, by the look of things. " I wanted him bad," said the policeman. " He killed his wife, down in the Tobique country, three years ago." Then he went back to Oiiebec. It was early in the following winter that Run- ning Ihunder, nis squaw and the two papooses paid a visit to Sober Sam's shack on Two-Fox Pond. They had all their gear with them — traps, grub and blankets. Sam fed them before he asked any questions. As soon as he put the first question, Running STORY OF PIERRE LACROSS 37 Thunder gave him a look and then told some fool- ish story about the fur being all killed-out along Little Beaver. Sam, of course, pretended to agree with him. When the squaw and the little ones were asleep Running Thunder told the truth. He and Sober Sam belonged to the same tribe, and so he knew that his secret was safe. So he told about the poacher, and how he had shot him and then put him out on the snow for the foxes. " He was a bad man," said the brave. " The policeman came for him, for he had killed his wife. But he said his spirit would stay in this country — and he said the truth! His spirit is trapping on Little Beaver. I have seen it. I do not know if it takes any furs — but there is not room for two in that country, so I have come away. I will ^o over into the Neepicsis country. I do not like to meet the spirit of that half-breed when I go the round of my traps." Sober Sam thought that the young man was afraid of his own memories. He gave him two pounds of tobacco, and three tins of condensed milk, and wished him luck in the Neepicsis country. So Running Thunder and his family went far aw^/ to the westward. Two days later, ii - r- UK ■':i u •I 38 COMRADES OF TKE TRAILS Sam made up a small pack an'1 vvf-nl dc An stream into the country that his friend had left. It was a fine place for mink, otter, fox and ermine — and perhaps he would get a few traps in the most likely spots. This would be perfectly honest, for now it was a no-man's land. He spent a week in the deserted territory, and in that time took two fine otters, a patch fox and three mink. He had visions of wealth — of great wealth to be quickly spent down in the settlements. But, one starlit night, he saw something that drove the thought of wealth quite out of his mind. He saw Pierre Lacross, stark naked, walking over the snow light as a feather and glancing from side to side as if looking for something that he did not want to see. So he struck out for his own country without waiting for morning. And that is the story of Pierre Lacross, told by Sober Sam to Dick Ramsey, over a meal of fried pork and milkless tea. When the old man had finished speaking Dick gazed at him in silence for fully a minute. "Do you really expect me to — to swallow that, Sam? " he asked, at last. "Swallow? How you mean?" inquired the j I ii^ STORY OF PIERRE LACROSS 39 guide, looking at him with deep, unblinking eyes. " You swallow tea and pork, yes. What you mean, Dick? " Dick felt confused. " Now about that spirit? Do you want me to think that you have told me a true story? Perhaps you are only playing a joke on me. But it is a beastly yam, and no mis- take. Honestly, Sam, do you expect me to believe that you saw the spirit of Pierre Lacross walking on the snow? " Sober Sam gazed at the young man steadily for a long time. Then he turned his eyes to the canoe and pointed at it with his hand. " Me see one good canoe. B'lieve dat? " "Yes." " A'right. Den you b'lieve me see what you hear. Sam no liar! He tell truth, yes. What you t'ink him not trap dat good country for, anyhow? What you t'ink no one trap it for? Injun know one t'ing — white man know some- thin' else. You trap dis country, Dick, an' maybe you know as much as Sam. Me trap him once. Dat heap too much! yes." Dick was puzzled. He did not believe in any such tommyrot as this — and yet he was sure that Sam was not joking with him. It was quite evi- ■W^W! ' A-JiSL . I m I" I i '. # 14 ■If 40 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS dent that the old redskin beheved every wed of his crazy story. " Heap more queer t'ing nor dat in de woods," said Sam, gently. " You larn plenty, bime- bye." Dick said nothing more about the strange story just then ; but it was a long time before he could get it out of his mind. As soon as the old tribes- man had smoked his pipe to the bitter heel the canoe was shoved into the water again and the voyage was continued. They still kept close to the shore, for the current was too strong for a comfortable use of the paddles. Sam stood, bending easily to every thrust of the long pole. Dick sat at his ease in the bow, with his rifle be- tween his knees. The sun rode high in the south, flooding the pver and the gloomy forests with gold. Dick fondled his rifle, eager for a chance to exhibit to his companion his skill with the weapon. He had shot for his school in more than one big match and had done his share toward winning more than one cup. But he had never squinted along the sights at a living target. He had been told that this was quite a different game from match shooting. As the canoe slipped noiselessly up stream he scanned the rugged shores with keen '■'^aim STORY OF PIERRE LACROSS 41 and eager eyes. He could see nothing but shining water and overhanging shadows. Suddenly the canoe stopped dead in its smooth advance. Dick glanced over his shoulder and saw that Sober Sam was pointing straight ahead with his left hand while he held the canoe firm against the current with his right. He turned and again fixed his gaze on the dusky shores. Ah ! there was something. But what? It was black bulky and motionless. Was it a bush, standing close to the water's edge. taUer by a foot or two than the surrounding brush.? Did it move? What was that on top of it, that caught the glint of the sun? He oegan to tremble. Then he heard a low whisper behind him. " Bull moose. 'Bout seventy yard." The .shell was in the breech the mark was motionless and the canoe was steady. Seventy yards — point-blank range. The back- sight was flat. All was ready -and it was an easy shot. But Dick's hands trembled. He pressed his elbows against the gunnels of the canoe; but it was no use. His arms jumped like newly-landed fish. A mist swam across his vision Then he saw the great, black head sway a little and the massive, branching antlers flash in the sun. He rubbed the mist from his eyes and 42 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS h %i n ; raised his ritie. The butt-plate bounced against his shoulder as if it were alive and the barrel wobbled and canted. Dick knew what the trouble was. This was a severe attack of the " buck fever " that he had heard men speak of in Quebec and at Wolf's Landing. It is an absolute panic of the nerves that conies to most people when they first try to bring the tip of the foresight and the " V " of the backsight into line against a hairy flank or neck. At last, in sheer desperation, Dick pressed the trigger. At the sharp report there was a fine commotion in the bushes as the great bull flung himself around and found his stride for th«. tall timber. Again the canoe began to move up against the current. Dick turned a flushed face toward his companion. The old man was poling easily, and smiling. " Plenty heap more moose where him come from," he said. And then, " You pull de trigger a'right, anyhow, Dick. You hit some- t'ing nex' time, maybe." ^' jtk CHAPTER IV BRUIN ON THE PORTAGE. SIGNS OF A THIEF That night they slept in the open, with their feet to a fire of white birch; and next morning they came to the foot of Trap Rapids. " The devil couldn't pole canoe up him," said Sober Sam; so the canoe was run ashore and unloaded and a portage was made. It was a half-mile portage — and it was a good deal harder to make than to write about. The outfit alone could not be carried around the rapids in less than four loads and the empty canoe made a fifth. Sam arranged the packs and off they started on the first trip. The trail was narrow and twisting, leading over rocky hummocks, around mud-holes and fallen trees and through tangled bottoms. The Indian jogged along and Dick did his best to keep up with him. The guide was sooxi out of sight, however, and the young Englishman was left to follow as best he could. He soon discovered that the pack on his should-rs was heavier than he had at first supposed. It 43 W-{i^^M -i:fX- .M. I t- ■i f H 'p '-" 44 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS de\ Inped several sharp comers, too, that prodded him at every step. The stake across his right shoulder, by which the pack was kept high up apn'i!?t his neck, seemed to be cutting him to the borr Put he kept bravely alot it. stooping far fccward V ease the drag on his shoulder; Tie ha 1 mat if about half the joum( when he naet SobvT S.'.n retui' Jng, empty-handed. ' You do mighty g(x»d for ^'reenhorn " re- marked Sam, pashsng with a grin. Dick torced a grin in reply and staggered on Now he was looking for an xcuse to let the pack slip to the ground. He was big and str-ong for his age; but he was not toughened to this sort of thi ;g. Suddenly an excuse for . Irijpping the pack pre- sented itself in the trail bttore him. Rounding a comer of tumbled -ocks md tangled brush he beheld the excuse standing m his path, not n ore than twenty yards away, in the form of a >ig black bear. Dick halted, at first to amaz ! to loosen his grip on the stake on hi' shou: and let the pack fall to the trail behir ^ lim. Ji-^ stood there hunched forward, stamig at the bear. He tried to recall to his mind all tl it he had ever read about the bears of this com v. He remembered that the} were not danger us Hkc BRUIN ON THE PORTAGE 45 the grizzly of the far west, in ict that they were timid iright en them — yes how was ne to kno in this pan of the . th s year uu Iraiitic u *h gentle br ing he to its ket'5 1 dec to f^isi leii , an fa try hungr A shout would he had rea that. But ' that the blueberry crop untry i ad 'een very light tl is particular bear was quite hf ^nawings of hung, r? And a M :Tom Dick to thi ear, carry- 3.n th provisions . the pack i Liiat the .rrect thing to do was uin out of his path; sf> he shouted Laggered toward it. But he di( not stagger .o his dismay, the bear aros^ leavily but .s^^ tly to its hind legs and storni the narrow tra.J, swaying slightly from side i Again V c ne to a sudden halt; but he was wthin i tteen yards of the bear. He a good . lew of Its small, red eyes, its half-open mouth and ^mall, gleaming teeth, its big paws hanging before its massive chest. He took note of these things — and then he let hi^ f);ick slip from his shoulders and turned and started back along the trail. He . oked over his shoulder as he ran, and seeing that the bear was not following him with that swift but lumbering run of which he had so '' 1 ^'i' ^ 't ii .-J i! '' t 46 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS often read he halted and turned again. He saw bruin drop to all-fours and walk along to the fallen pack. He saw him sniff the several bags and packages inquiringly, then raise one of his great paws and strike sharply at one of the bags. One blow did the work. The bag was ripped from top to bottom and out flowed the evaporated apples in white and tender fragments. Bruin sniffed again, then began to eat greedily and with evident relish. This was too much for Dick Ramsey. " The black robber! " he muttered. " What I need is my rifle." So he turned and started back toward the canoe at his best pace. But he had not gone far before he met Sober Sam, bent almost double under his load but jogging along as if this portage work was no more trouble than eating dinner. Sam leaned backward against a tree, thus easing himself of the weight of the pack, while Dick told him about the bear in a few breathless words. "Skin good?" asked the Indian, calmly. " Fur plenty thick? " " Yes, it seemed to be in fair condition. His teeth and claws were in good shape, anyway," replied Dick. BRUIN ON THE PORTAGE 47 " Dat so. Fur gettin' thick now, for winter. Pretty good, maybe, but better one moon later. A'right, we shoot him. You hurry, Dick, or old b'ar he get awful belly-ache with all dem apples. He get away, maybe, an' drink plenty water. Den apples swell an' old b'ar he bust." Dick was soon back with the rifle. Sober Sam lowered his pack to the trail and straightened his back. " You shoot or me shoot.? " he asked. "I — I think I'll have another try," replied Dick, blushing at the memory of his shot at the moose. " I was in a blue funk yesterday; but I must get over that." "A'right," said Sam. "You just t'ink him one target an' shoot him bull's eye." They went forward quietly and soon came in sight of the bear. He was still busy with the evaporated apples and seemed to be tremendously pleased with himself and his surroundings. "It seems a pity to shoot him when he is en- joying himself so," whispered Dick. " Dat what you t'ink about bull moose, yes- terday, maybe," returned Sober Sam with a sly grin. Dick saw that pity had no place in the work in hand and that his budding reputation nm. m- H Ifi '' 1 li! ^ H 1 I tU t 48 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS as a woodsman and fur-taker w?,s at stake. He lay flat and brought the sights in line against a vital spot under the bear's left shoulder. He took the Indian's advice and imagined that the hairy form was nothing but a lifeless target. So successful was this that one shot was enough. The bear rolled over, kicked feebly and then lay still. " Now we skin him — an' den we finish port- age," remarked Sober Sam. Dick was not so cool about it as his companion. He rushed forward and examined the bulky, lifeless body with mingled sensations of pride and pity. Blood stained the evaporated apples that still remained upon the ground. Thin flakes of the dned fruit still hung from the bear's stiff jaws. It was a pitiful sight; but, on the other hand, it was his first bear — the first large animal that had ever fallen to his rifle — the beginning of his career as a fu.'-taker. One who takes toll of the wilderness, with trap and rifle, must harden himself to the sight of blood and huddled, lifeless forms. The skinning of the bear was a task that took a good deal of time, skill and strength. Dick supplied some of the required strength and ob- '^sfer BRUIN ON THE PORTAGE 49 tained a useful lesson. With the hide oflf the carcass was found to be very thin. They threw it aside into a thicket of spruces and went on with the task of transporting the outfit from the foot of the rapids to the top. It was close upon noon when Sam made the last trip, with the canoe upon his shoulders, bottom-up. Two-Fox Pond was reached safely early in the afternoon. It was a good-sized lake, about three miles in length and from half a mile to a mile in width. The forests hemmed it in like a crowding army; pine, spruce and cedar on the lower ground and maple and birch on the ridges of the hills. Sober Sam's shack was near the lower end of the lake. Three miles across the hills from the upper end lay another lake and the head-waters of Smoky River. The lake was called Smoky Pot. On the height of land between Two-Fox Pond (the rise of Little Beaver) and Smoky Pot (the rise of Smoky River) stood Wigwam Mountain. Dick learned this, and much more of the surrounding country, gradually. The brief Indian summer soon passed — a fleeting season of warmth and gold and blue haze after the first frost. The Indians say it is in these beautiful days that the Sim God ri t^ij. "i i! 'i< U .:| p i!! Ili 50 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS smokes his pipe before retiring to his lodge for his long winter sleep. The azure haze on the hiUs is the smoke of his giant pipe and the warmth is the glow of the burning tobacco in the great bowl. All too soon he draws the last whiff; then he shakes the dead ashes out of his pipe and frost and snow descend upon the wilderness. Ice formed across Two-Fox Pond early in NoN^ember. Then the first heavy fall of snow came in the night, cloaking the wilderness a foot deep. By this time the canoe was in a snug shelter of bark, and one long line of traps was set. This line ran westward from the shack for a distance of about twelve miles, and was to be Dick's especial care. It skirted several name- less ponds, crossed three small streams and some considerable hills, and twisted through gloomy forests and over desolate barrens. Fifteen traps and dead-falls were set on this line — three dead- faUs for bear, steel traps for fox and sable, and some snares of Sam's own invention for mink and ermine. The Indian intended to run another line of traps up the eastern shore of the lake, across the height of land and around the base of Wigwam Mountain; and still another down the river to the edge of the country that used to h i: if: ^'^IS- BRUIN ON THE PORTAGE 51 be trapped by Pierre Lacross. But all this could not be done in a day — nor yet in ten days. Sober Sam taught Dick to walk and run on the snow-shoes or racquets, to handle an axe in true woodsman style, to distinguish the trails of various animals in the snow and to observe the general lie and character of the country through which they travelled. Dick proved him- self a quick student; but even to the quickest the science and thousand nice points of wood- craft are not mastered in a dozen lessons. The first snow-fall was soon fDllowed by a second — and now winter was upon them in earnest. The frost struck deep into earth, water and wood. Under the snow the forest mould was hard as iron. The inmost fibres of the great trees were gripped by the knife-edged frost. The rivers were muffled under ever-thickening roofs of ice, and even the clashing rapids were bridged and shackled save for a tiny air-hole here and there. But, day after day, the small, colour- less sun accomplished his brief voyage across a cloudless sky. Early one morning, at the break of dawn, Dick set out alone to make his first round of inspection of the westward line of traps. He ■ L-..L. ^ H \u : i iff { ! Tl •4: 'iJ B : ;» i I ii 52 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS carried his sleeping-bag (in case some accident should keep him abroad aU night), tea and a tin kettle, a little cold bacon and bread, his rifle, axe and a small compass. He had eaten a good breakfast and stepped out manfully into the frosty, silent forest. The first lights were just lifting, low and wide, above the eastern and south- eastern hills. He felt proud, and eager for ad- venture. He reached the first trap within half an hour of leaving the shack and found the frozen remains — fragments of bone and skin, a brush and the distorted mask — of a red fox. He knew tins to be the work of the wolverine, from stories his companion had told him of the habits of the beasts of this country. Even for a wolverine it must have l)een a very tough and unsavoury meal. He cleared up the mess, reset the trap and rebaited it with a piece of rabbit flesh and then looked around for some sign of the glutton- ous thief. He found its tracks leading to and away from the trap, but the outlines of the foot- prints were so smeared that he knew the visit had been made several days before. So he con- tinued on his way, having no time to waste in hunting for the wolverine which, no doubt, was miles away by this time — even taking toll of BRUIN ON THE PORTAGE 53 another of his traps, perhaps. It would have gone hard with the greedy thief if Dick had caught a sight of him just then. The sun was up now, and Dick mr along his line at a good pace. He found the .^cond trap empty and undisturbed; but there were plenty of " signs " in the snow around it. He saw where a fox had circled it several times and a lynx had come within a foot of it. Deciding that something was wrong with the location of the trap or the way it had been set, he uncovered it and unfastened the chain which held it to the base of a small spruce tree. Then he drew on an extra pair of mittens, the palms of which had been smeared with bacon fat to kill the man- smell, lifted the trap and carried it to a new posi- tion about ten yards away from the old. After placing it to his taste he brushed the snow lightly over it with a spruce branch and over the nearer marks of his snow-shoes as well. This precaution was not to hide his tracks but to bury the scent of where his moccasins touched the snow. The noses of the wilderness folk are keen to discover the smell of man. Dick found a mink in the third trap, a large specimen with the fur in perfect condition. He i ^1' :■! I 1 .. ! 1. 4 i»' i s ?•> . ' ■» 1 1 I 54 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS did not stop to skin it then, but drew down a maple sapling, fastened the long, slim body to the top and let the young tree spring back to an upright position. Little he thought, when he thus put the body of the mink out of harm's way from the hungry prowlers of the forest that he was sealing the fate of his enemy the wolverine. Later, Dick found two common foxes and an ermine. He dealt with the foxes as he had with the mink; but he put the little ermine in his pocket. He had a great deal of difficulty in finding some of the traps: and by noon he had not covered more than half of his outward jour- ney. He made a small fire, boiled the kettle and steeped tea, and ate half of his bread and bacon. He saw that he should have to deal with the remainder of the traps much more quickly than he had been able to with the others to get back to the shack that night. Just then the thought of spending the night alone in the forest was not unpleasant. The .un was shining brightly, you see, and he was in fine feather over the mink, the ermine and the two foxes. But, c n then, he hoped that luck would be with h nighc would find him in h m ad that own familiar bunk. Luck was against him. however, as far as ma- is BRUIX OX THE PORTAGE 55 king a swift journey was concerned. He passed an empty dead- fall and several more empty traps and congratulated himself on making very good time. But when he arrived at the edge of the big barren he saw something that promised to delay him. Not more than forty yards away, and moving at a leisurely pace across his position, was a small herd of caribou. There were five animals in the herd; and the leader was a fine stag with broad and many-pointed antlers. This was a chance that Dick could not let pass un- challenged, no matter what delay it might cause him. Here was a chance for his first caribou, for a store of fresh meat for himself and his com- panion, and for a fine pair of antlers. He was excited; but he forced his hands and eyes to steadiness, lay down in the snow, took a quick but sure aim and pressed the trigger. The stag halted, threw back its fine head, staggered forward a few paces and then plunged on collapsed knees into the feathery snow. Twice it struggled to its feet. Twice it fell again; and then it lay still. The rest of the herd stood around their fallen leader in wonder for several seconds; but suddenly, getting a sniff of the warm blood, they dashed away. ^ i li t 1 1 ■ 1 1 1; :< i » :! ; 1 J;i »H>i CHAPTER V A HAIR - RAISING NIGHT. A STRANGE DISCOVERY IN THE MORNING When Dick reached the stag he found it dead as wood. The bullet had entered behind the left shoulder, had passed through the heart and come out at the base of the neck on the right side. He was glad that he had made such a clean, sure, merciful shot. Drawing his knife from its leather sheath he bled the carcass according to instruc- tions received from Sober Sam. He did not like the job; but in the wilderness a man must do whatever comes to his hand. Out on the treeless barren he felt the icy thrust of the wind; so he laid hold of the hind legs of the stag and dragged it, by short stages, to the edge of the woods. Then he began to skin it. Poor Dick! The carcass was already as stiff as a log and the air was so bitterly cold that he could not uncover his hands for more than a few seconds at a time. The blood froze on his woollen, fur-lined mittens, stiffening them so that he could scarcely close 56 A HAIR-RAISING NIGHT 57 his hand on the haft of his knife. As fast as he puUed the hide away from the carcass it became as hard as a board. Dick saw that, if he finished the skinning and cuttmg of the caribou, he would not only have to spend the night in the open, but would, very likely, have to leave the inspection of the re- mammg traps until morning. Already, the sun was low upon the hills in front of him. Long shadows slanted across the snow. He gazed around him. standing knife in hand above the half-skmned carcass of the stag, and felt some- thing akin to fear at the silence, the emptiness and the vastness that surrounded him. He saw the dusk gathering like an inflowing tide among the black spruces. " I must get used to this sort of thing,- he muttered, and stooped again to his task. Now he worked as if his life depended upon the flesh and hule of the stag. He wanted to have his fire imming strongly and his sleeping- place ready b. fore dark. At last he got the skm clear, cutting it free from the carcass at the legs and the neck. He severed the antle.s from the head by breaking off the top of the skull with his axe. But now the lower rim of the sun was behind the distant forest, so, waiting only to hack *OTMGE5. ■^'"im:^ 68 COMKADES OF THE TRAILS H t off one hind-quarter, he loaded himself and hur- ried back, along his trail a distance of several hundreds of yards. He would let the rest of the meat take its chance with the hungry prowlers of the night. Dick lost no time about settling on a place to make camp. Under the big trees and beside a thicket of young spruce he dropped his load and his rifle. With his axe he set briskly to work to get together enough fire-wood to last through the night, some dry and some green. He was fortunate enough to find some small birches close at hand and several dead spruces. These he had sofjn trimmed and cut into three-foot lengths. Then, using one of his long snow-shoes for a shovel, he dug a trench in the drifted snow against the thicket. He dug right down to the frozen moss for a distance of about ten feet. As the snow was still light he pressed the sides and ends of the trench with his snow-shoe. He laid a little roof of spruce branches across one end and bedded it with the same material. In the other end of the trench he built his fire. By the time Dick had accomplished all this night had settled over the wilderness, the last glow of red had departed and the stars were 'tT^m A HAIR - RAISIxXG NIGH T 59 glinting frostily high above the black .pires of the forest. Dick thmst h>s snow-shoes, ail-first "ito the wall of the trench, removed his mitteni and outer coat, laid his sleeping-bag. rifl. and axe under the narrow roof and arranged his s.mple cookmg.k.t beside the fire. Then he filled the kettle w,th new snow and put it to melt in the edge of the fire and cut a generous slice from the haunch of venison. Soon a fragrant odour stole up and away into the gloomy forest. The cheery heat and radiance of the crackling fire filled the long, narrow trench. It was hard to believe that millions of acres of gloom and frost pressed close up to that little fire on every side. "This is r.J.H onite home-like." remarked Dick, turmng t!, .,..;.,.. steak in the pan. Tired from h - ^o.;. day's work, he ^ou r,. moved his moccasins and outer stoc: inr. from his feet and slipped into his sleeping-bag. Half the mght s supply of wood was above him. on the edge of the trench, and the rest was beside his couch^ His rifle lay at his right hand, with four cartndges in the magazine and one in the breech. The breath of the fire beat along the white, glistening walls of his retreat in soothing, comfort^ mg u aves ; and in two minutes he was sound asleep "'}; I m r , ^< ,, .Jii' ■jr. * ri li ;f I 60 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS Dick awoke suddenly and, in the same fraction of a second, sat bolt upright. The sound that had brought him so sharply from his deep slumber had died from the air, but was still ringing in his brain. What was it? What could it have been? The echo of it rang in his ears, high and weird. He sat very still, listening, waiting for it to again break the silence of the frosty night. His right hand was on the grip of his rifle and his eyes stared straight ahead, above the sunken fire and into the enveloping shadows of the forest. So he sat, without moving a muscle, for several minutes. He heard the low fire crackle furtively and a tip of ash fall from a smouldering stick onto the red coals beneath. He heard the sudden, clear snapping of the frost in the great trees above and around him. But the sound that had awak- ened him did not return — just then. He changed his position, bending far forward so that he could look upward past the edge of the roof of brush. He could see nothing but the glinting of the stars beyond the black masses of the spruces. He drew himself out of the sleeping-bag and placed some birch-bark and an armfull of wood on the fire. The flames leapt upward, cast- ing a red light into the forest beyond the edges A HAIR-RAISING NIGHT 61 of the trench. Dick lit a roll of the inflammable bark at the fire and held it high above his head so that it threw its red glow far around among the tree trunks. But he could see nothing but snow and shadows and the massive pillars of the forest. The torch burned down close to his hand ; and just as he let it drop the noise that had startled him from his sleep shrilled again on the air. It was an indescribable noise, high and keen, beastly and yet with something human about it. It was partly a cry, partly mad laughter. For several seconds it rang across the frosty night, and then fell silent. While the terrific noise lasted Dick stood mo- tionless, gripped by a nameless terror. Upon the return of silence he stooped and snatched up his rifle, kicked the fire into a burst of flame and faced the direction from which the sound had come. The direction was that of the carcass of the caribou. He trembled; but he stood firm, ready to meet any attack — an attack from any- thing — with five steel-napped bullets. It was a desperate sort of courage that possessed him, however, for there had been something unea^thl^^' unbelievable, m that cry from the outer darkness.' He told himself (but failed to convince himself), I |Vi ■1 At 1^ 62 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS that it was the voice of a wolf, a fox, a lynx or a wild-cat. On his arrival in the country he had once heard the cry of that great northern water- bird, the loon. That had been hideous enough; but this was a thousand times worse. And even if the sounds had been the same, what would a loon be doing out on the frozen, snow-sheeted barren? He had heard the night-cries of foxes, wolves and the two big varieties of cats that were native to the wilderness; but this was like none of these. Dick waited, ready for he knew not what, for fully fifteen minutes; but nothing came and the sound was not again repeated. He mended the fire and paced back and forth between it and his bed, keeping a sharp look-out on every side. Pres- ently, from the same direction from which the cry had come, he heard the yelp of a fox. That commonplace sound gave him fresh courage ; but he did not relish the thought that the prowlers were eating that good meat and arguing over their meal. He fired n shot into the darkness, to let them know that the rightful owner of the caribou was not far away. Silence followed the sharp report of the rifle. Dick did not return to his sleeping-bag, but A HAIR-RAISING NIGHT 63 spent the remainder of the night on guard, alert and anxious, fearing that at any moment tliat terrible sound — half cry and half mad laughter — might again assail his ears. At the first hint of dawn he drew on his moccasins and outer coat, scrambled out of the trench and sUpped his feet into the toe-loops of his snow-shoes and started cautiously for the edge of the barren. You may be sure that his rifle was in his hand. He moved very quietly, hoping to catch sight of something that might throw some light on the cause of the hideous sounds that had robbed him of his rest. The grey light sifted faintly between the tree- trunks and through the high, massed branches. When he sighted the carcass at last he saw some- thing moving near it. something small and black against the grey shimmer of the snow. He knelt and fired; but the light was bad and the little animal — whatever it was — darted away. With a grunt of disgust he got to his feet again and hurried forward. As he glanced down at the carcass of the stag an exclamation of dismay burst from his lips. Much of the flesh was gone — and he could see that it had not been torn away by the fangs of animals, but had been cut with a sharp blade! A H i 1*1 i : I;* n ■;! ^q!:. f ^1 ■i "^ 64 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS human being had been at work about the frozen stag in the night! A man had been here, in sight of the fire, had taken meat and gone secretly away. And the terrible cry he had heard ? Could a human have made that hideous sound? The light was steadily increasing, and Dick stared around him and far out across the desolate barren, perplexed and shaken with apprehension. In fact he was so shaken that several minutes passed before he thought of examining the snow for in- formation concerning his midnight visitor. Here was something written plainly enough, stamped on the soft, white surface in large type; but he could not read it. What he saw was unreal, unheard-of, and filled him with fresh apprehension and a vague alarm and distrust of his surround- ings. Around the carcass, and leading to it and away from it, were large, oval prints in the snow. Dick knelt and examined one of them closely. " Of course it was a man — a man of some sort," he murmured, " so these must be the marks of some kind of snow-shoe." But if snow-shoes or racquets had left those prints then their owner was undoubtedly a lunatic. The impressions were almost as broad as they were long and showed no signs of tails. And to A HAIR-RAISING NIGHT 65 make such solid marks the frames must have been fiUed with bark or rounds of hide instead of with the customary light network of woven thongs. And who but a man of imperfect intelligence would make or use such a snow-shoe as this? And who but a raving maniac would give voice to such terrible sounds as those that had aroused the young trapper from his heavy sleep and filled his heart with fear? Where the mysterious stranger had not cut, loxes and other animals had gnawed at the frozen flesh of the caribou. Dick hacked off a few pounds to ser^x as bait for his traps and then returned to his fire, got breakfast and prepared to move along. He did not rehsh the idea of the man with the queer snow-shoes. He felt that the sooner his work was done and he was safe back on Two-Fox Pond the bett... Much good fur would not have tempted him to spend another night alone beside that haunted barren. So he packed his kit, hung the hide, riesh and antlers of the caribou out of the reach of the foxes, and set out to finish the inspection of the traps. He travelled fast, anx- ious to be home before night-fall. He found a Ivnx in the first trap on the farther side of the barren. The next two were empty; but in the ! 'A'/H.-H'-iJI V 66 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS last he found something to think about. The trap was lying as he and Sober Sam had left it, baited and set; but in looking closely at the bait he saw that it was a fragment of red flesh — the flesh of a hare, perhaps. Now he remem- bered very well that this particular trap, set in a low spot beside a frozen stream, had been baited with the head and shoulders of a two- pound trout that Sam had caught through a hole in the ice for this very purpose. Here was some- thing to worry about, and no mistake — some- thing considerably more serious than the theft of caribou meat and the hideous cries in the night. Here was a thief (unmistakable signs of him, at least), who was not above robbing another man's traps and calmly resetting them for his future profit! This oort of thing, Dick knew weU, was one of the blackest crimes of the wilderness. Here was a robber more cunning and more dan- gerous than the wolverine. He felt no doubt that it was the same oerson who had helped him- self to the choice cuts of the caribou. Dick set out on the back trail with indignation aglow in his heart. He had expected to find honesty and fair-play in the wilderness; and instead he had found the most brazen robber v. A HAIR-RAISING NIGHT 67 Yes, he was very angry. Also, he was somewhat alarmed. He could not get the thought of those terrible cries, and of those solid, round tracks in the snow hke the foot-prints of some prehistoric monster, out of his mind. Dick reached his camping-place of the night before with the skin of the lynx hanging from his belt. It was still early -not much past nine o'clock. He made a pack of the hide, antlers and flesh of the stag, fastened it high on his shoulders and hastened onward. He followed his old trail. He had not gone far before he saw the tracks of the midnight robber across his old trail at right-angles. And the tracks were freiJi — fresher than his own of the previous evening. Beyond a doubt the mysterious stranger had crossed that way this very morning! For a moment he contemplated the advisability of following those strange tracks and bringing the thief to immediate account. But on second thoughts he decided that the safest thing to do was to keep to his own trail — for the present. He drew his rifle from its blanket case, however, and kept a sharp look-out on all sides as he tramped along. As he advanced he examined every trap again and skinned such animals as ,1 a M 68 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS !;: ii 5- '■kt he had hving out of harm's way the day before. Under the spur of anxiety, he deprived the frozen bodies of their warm pelts at a rate of speed that even Sober Sam would not have been ashamed of. Once more, at a point about five miles from Two- Fox Pond, the trail of the stranger crossed his. When Dick came in sight of the sapling in the top of which he had hung the body of the first mink, he saw something that caused him to forget the human thief for a few minutes. High up in the leafless sapling, and within a foot of the frozen mink, was a small, bear-like beast doing its best to set its claws in the prize that swayed about so temptingly just out of reach. It was so intent on this business that it did not tear the trapper. " The wolverine," murmured Dick, knowing the glutton by Sober Sam's description.- of it. " The rascal that ate the fox." He steadied himself by leaning his shoulder against a tree, for the pack was heavy and he was tired, took unhurried aim and fired. The wolverine's hind legs lost their hold on the smooth bark of the sapling. For a few seconds he hung aloft by his fore-paws, then dropped lifeless into the .now. HlliH VV IN rui: I.KAFl.KSS SAI'I.INc IIKAK - I.IKK UKA.>-i WAS A SMALL, 1 J. i ( t .4. i « \\\ i I'f :« '■ I :■ It- I 1 ! If i4 f CHAPTER VI SOBER SAM RESPECTS THE SPIRIT OP THE DEAD HALF - BREED. THE WOLVES Dick reached Two-Fox Pond without further adventure, early in the afternoon, and found the shack empty. His companion was away on one of the other hnes of traps. So Dick cooked himself a dinner of pancakes and pork, ate it in comfort beside the hearth (with an apprehensive eye on the window, however, for dread of the bemg with the queer racquets was still with him) and afterwards, though he felt sleepy, set to work scraping and stretching the new skins. He found a good deal of satisfaction in this work, for every one of the pelts was excellent of its kind. Sober Sam appeared at the shack shortly after sunset. He smiled pleasantly at Dick, stood his snow-shoes in a comer away from the fire, dropped a few pelts on the floor and brushed his hand across his face. He was breathing quickly. Dick lit the lantern. , i MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No 2) 1.0 I.I 1.25 1^ m 2.5 i^ m m 1^ 1. m m^ 12.0 1.4 1.8 1.6 ^ APPLIED IfVHGE Inc '653 East Mam Street Rochester, New ^ork 1^609 USA ("6) 482 - 0300 - Phone (716) 288 - 5989 - Fa« 70 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS mi 1 ^ < I n " What luck, Sam? " he asked, glancing ctiri- ously at his companion. " Pretty good," replied Sam. " Three mink, one fox, two ermine, one b'ar. Yes, dat pretty good luck, a'right. What you get, Dick? " Dick showed the pelts he had brought in and told of the shooting of the caribou and the wol- verine. But he did not tell his whole story then, for he felt that Sam also was withholding some- thing. He stooped and examined the pelts that lay on the floor. " Where is the bear skin? " he asked, for it was not with the others. " Dunno," replied Sam. " B'ar, he was in de dead-fall a'right ; but he hadn't no skin on him. What you think, Dick? You think, maybe de b'ar in dis country don't grow no overcoats? " " So there has been a thief on your line," re- marked Dick. Sam nodded. " Two-legged t'ief, him. Wol- verine, he don't skin b'ar." The Dick told of the knife-cuts in the carcass of the caribou, of the terrible cries in the night and of the rebaited trap. Also, he told of the queer snow-shoe tracks. Sober Sam, who by this time had filled and lighted his pipe, smoked in silence throughout the story. He looked very grave SAM RESPECTS THE DEAD 71 and shook his head frequently. At last he spoke. " Pierre Lacross, he make queer snow-shoe like dat, once. He too a'mighty lazy to make good racquet. Dat look like Pierre, a'right." " Be serious! " cried Dick. " For this is a serious matter. We can not afford to have our traps robbed." " Dat right," said Sam. " Bad bigness to have fur stole hke dat. Dat b'ar skin now, he worth ten dollar maybe. Me serious a'right, Dick. Yes, you bet!" " Then what had we better do? " asked Dick. " There is a thief in this country who is robbing our traps and trying to frighten us at the same time. That is what he made those frightful noises for. He frightened me that time, I admit ; but he had better not try it again or he will find a few bullets whistling 'round his ears." The Indian gazed at him with inscrutable eyes. " Bullets no good — dis time, anyhow. Guess we better shift our country, Dick, 'way up nort' a few days' journey. Yes, we better go 'way from dis part o' the country, you bet." Dick stared at his dusky companion with anger and amazement in his face. " What the devil are .dli. 72 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS you talking abo i ' " he cried. " R\m away from a thief! But perhaps you are joking, Sam? I don't see the joke, but you may. But if you are, please stop it and talk sense. I did not come to this country for the express purpose of acting the fool. I could have done that at home." " Dat no joke," replied Sober Sam, calmly. " Dat honest-injun-gospel-truth me tellin' you. Pierre Lacross, he shift his country, so we better shift ours too." " What has this to do with Pierre Lacross? *' asked Dick, in fretful wonder. " You told me he was dead. You told me that he was shot by Running Thunder." Sober Sam nodded. " Yes, dat right. But I tell you how he still take fur, down by Push-and- be-damn. Now he move his country, I guess. He Uke dis country better, maybe." " Do you mean to say that you believe the thief who is meddling with our traps is Lacross's ghost? " asked Dick incredulously. " Pierre's spirit, yes. He trap just the same as before — dat spirit." At this Dick fairly lost his temper. " What would a spirit want with caribou meat?" he jeered. " What does a ghost want with snow- ''Ai SAM RESPECTS THE DEAD 73 shoes? — and even if it was fool enough to wear them it would not sink six inches into the snow at every step. Rot! I thought you had some sense. I tell you, Sam, that spirit weighs as much as I do. But if you are afraid of it you can get out — you can go north just as soon as you want to — but you'll go alone, by thunder! I'd rather trap alone than with a man who would want me to shift my outfit every time something unusual happened. Here I stay, Sober Sam! It will take more than one half-breed, dead or alive, to frighten me out of this good trap- ping country. Bat you can go wherever you want to — straight to the devil, for aU I care!" " You heap tam brave young man, Dick," said the other, calmly. " I am not a confounded coward, anyway," retorted Dick. Sober Sam shook the ashes out of his pipe. " You think dat thief a common man. Maybe you right, Dick. He steal just like Pierre, an' he got same fool kind o' snow-.,hoe. Sober Sam, he no coward, too. You talk too quick — an' not so a'mighty polite as Billy Blunt told me neither." f I 74 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS i.^ " Polite? " returned Dick, smiling slightly. " Do you expect me to be polite under all cir- cumstances? We are partners in the trapping business, Sam; and when my partner talks like a fool and wants to act like one I mean to tell him what I think of him, every time, whether he thinks it polite or not. And you are welcome to do the same by me, Sam." They spent ine evening working over the new skins and discussing the thief. Sam was not convinced that it was other than the spirit of the dead half-breed; but he was willing to stand by Dick and defy it. As he had said, he was no cow- ard; but he confessed that he would not know exactly how to act should he come face to face with the mysterious robber of the traps. He remembered how he had acted when he had seen it down in Running Thunder's des«3rted country (he believed it to be the same thing), the winter after Rtmning Thunder and his family had been driven away. What he had done on that mem- orable occasion was simply to turn aroimd in his tracks and run until legs and wind gave out. He had a grave suspicion that he might behave in the same manner again under the same circum- stances. But if he were only sure that the thief : sm'.-'mYaimM;gimm SAM RESPECTS THE DEAD 75 was a man and not a spirit he would go out on its trail and hunt it to its retreat without a twinge of fear. " What you do, Dick, when j'oa see him? " he asked. " Try to get hold of him." replied Dick, simply, " If he shows fight I'll fight too; and if he runs, and seems to be able to outrun me, then I'll open fire on him." Sober Sam was deeply impressed by his yoimg companion's fearless attitude. Snow began to fall during the night and con- tinued *o drift down, out of a low, grey sky, all day. The trappers kept to the shack. They had plenty of work to do, for the skins required attention, socks and over-stockings needed darn- ing and Sam was anxious to commence making two new pairs of r^now-shoes. The wood for the frames was already seasoned and bent, having been gathered and whittled into shape the year before. Now the caribou hide had to be cut into strips of varying widths and prepared for weavir^ across the frames. The snow ceased to fall about sun-down; and at an early hour of the following morning the tr»pp«r» <^t out together on the westward line o£ I PI m 76 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS traps. The new-fallen snow, not yet packed down by the wind, made very heavy " going." The racquets sank fully eight inches at every step and came up each time with a freight of snow. Sober Sam took the lead for the first mile and Dick for the second; ' thus they continued to change positions th .ghout the journey, each doing his share of "breaking trail." The sun was up by the time they reached the first trap. It was empty, but had not been tampered with. Between the shack and the edge of the barren they found only one prize — a patch-fox. Now patch-foxes, like black and grey foxes, are freaks; but, unlike the black and the grey, they are not valuable freaks. The skin of a well-marked " patch " may be worth from two to three times that of an ordinary red; whereas the pelts of black and grey run from ten to eighty pounds in value, the black being the more valuable of the two. But the strange part of it is that these are not separate varieties of fox. The common, reddish yellow animal wears the true family coat — the blacks, greys and patches are but freaks. The pelt valued at three dollars and that valued at four hundred dollars may come from animals that were cubbed in the same den. Needless to ^,ir'r.' -mfm^^ umed sideways under him and sent him sprawling. Sober Sam had to turn and drag him to his feet again. They went up hill and down dale, across hidden streams and beneath wide, snow-weighted branches that spilled their loads upon the trappers' heads. The Indian did not look to be travelling very fast, but he was soon far ahead of poor Dick. He halted at the base of a small himimock and waited for Dick to come up with him. " You step too high," he said, as the other reached him, puffing heavily. " You chuck yer feet too high. An' you go hop-jump over things an' bang-bump into things. Dat not de way! But we get in sight pretty soon, I guess. Wolves kill pretty soon — in three-four mile, maybe — an' den v o get good shot." Dick nodded (he had no wind to spare for le- marks), and on they went. He took Sam's hint as to the high action of the legs and the bumping into things and travelled as nearly as he cotdd after che methods of the red man, avoiding ob- stacles rather than overcoming them and not lifting his feet an inch higher than was abso- i m I l\ 80 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS lutely necessary. In this way he managed to keep within a few yards of his companion. The stag and the wolves led them through some des- perately rough country, on a course that bore steadily to the nor'east. Suddenly the Indian halted and held up his left hand. They were behind a dense thicket on the crest of a small knoll. The deep trail of the caribou led straight through the tangled barrier of young spruces and firs. A few slight sounds — a snort and a low snarl — reached the ears of the trappers. Sober Sam nodded to Dick and cleared his old Snider from its case. Dick got his Winchester ready and together they moved cautiously forward. When they got through the thicket they had a cle-r view down the slope of the hill to the little valley at the bottom. All the way down th- slope the deep trail was marked with blood; and in the little valley the big, tawny wolves tore at the lifeless body of the caribou. The wolves were as large as collies, and long- jawed and long-haired. Their coats varied from reddish brown in one to red and grey in another. One was very light and another showed a good deal of black about the ruff and brush. Their heads were very broad above the eyes. They were 'r^-:-'m-j.-z wvrj* SAM RESPFCTS THE DEAD Si- much larger and finer beasts than Dick had im- agined wolves to be. Each selected his victim and the two rifles spoke at the same momc -. The beast with the black markings and a sp n*iid big fellow with an even red-brown coat sprang into the air and '«.ii. kicking, in the snow. For a second or two . • -^ kicked and then lay still. The others had van- ished iixe shadows on the very instant of the firing. By the time the two wolves were deprived cf their fine pelts it was a full hour past noon. Dick and Sam were hungry, for they had break- fasted before six and had travelled about seven- teen miles since then. And they had not trav- elled by an easy road. So they made a fire, boiled their kettle and ate bi i and cold pork. Neither felt any appetite to try a slice of the wolf- killed caribou. They su. on the wolf skins, close to the fire; ai. ' ::ftcr thj meal -was finished Sam filled his blackened pipe. ii CHAPTER VII If M I I 1': ! I I ill 1 ! t < A WRENCHED ANKLE. SOBER SAM's REMARKABLE DISCOVERY Sober Sam smoked his pipe for about twenty minutes, silent, staring at the little fire in the snow. He sat cross-legged on one of the fresh wolf skins, and suggested to Dick a good-natured heathen idol carved out of ancient and unpolished mahogany. The cold air was without a breath of wind, and the thin, azure finger of smoke from the dying fire arose as straight as a wand, un- broken until it faded in the upper sunshine. Two big, heavy-headed jays came from somewhere in the depths of the woods, attracted by the sight or scent of the smoke. Screaming discordantly, hopping from branch to branch and making short, awkward flights from tree to tree, they drew nearer and nearer to the fire and the quiet woodsmen. At last they descended within a yard of Dick and each snatched and gulped a frag- ment of discarded pork fat. Dick tossed them 82 A WRENCHED ANKLE 83 some more scraps, which they accepted fearlessly and greedily. " They are wonderfully tame," remarked Dick. " One would think that they are accustomed to human ^^ociety." Sober Sam glanced up and nodded his head. " Dat right," he said. " Dem whiskey-jacks a'mighty friendly birds. You go anywhere, I guess, clean up to Hudson Bay, maybe, an' light fire, an' pretty soon one-two-t'ree whiskey-jack come hoppin' an' hollerin' round. An a'mighty good reason, too, you bet." "And what's the reason?" asked Dick, de- lighted at having stirred the old man from his reverie. " Dem whiskey-jacks all got de spirits of trapper in him," said Sam. " Not injun trapper, but 'breed, maybe, or Scotch, or French, or EngUsh. Back in Quebec plenty got spirit of lumberman in him. Spirit of good injun trapper don't get into bird — it go smack otf to Happy Himting- Groimd, west of de Crimson Wigwam. So dem whiskey-jacks feel a'mighty good when dey sniff smell of fire an' fried bacum. Yes, you bet ! Long time, maybe, dey bin eatin' nothin' but bird- food — an' dat all-fired uncomforble grub for 84 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS '<: spirit of trapper. So when dey see fire dey come a'mighty quick an' hang round long time, gulpin' an' hstenin'. Dey listen now, you bet. See dat ol' feller wink um eye at me." Dick laughed and dropped several more scraps of pork on the snow. " And what do you think, Sam? Are these chaps possessed of the spirits of half-breed, French, Scotch or English trap- pers? " " I guess dat feller dat hop up into tree with biggest lump of pork, him Scotch trapper, Dick; an' dat feller tryin' to poke him Ik 'ad into your pocket, him got English spirit." Dick laughed heartily. " That's one on me, Sam, for I'm both Scotch and English." " Dat two on you, den," replied the Indian, grinning broadly. Then he got to his feet, made up his pack and replaced his snow-shoes. " Best move along," he said. " Can't talk an' make joke all day, Dick." They were soon on the march again, with the wolf skins and some of the flesh of the caribou added to their packs. They meant to use the flesh as bait for the traps. Sober Sam led the way, heading in the direction of the line of traps from which the chase of the wolves and caribou A WRENCHED ANKLE 85 had drawn them. Sam did not require the help of a compass to find his bearings. A glance at the sky, and a sweeping survey of the woods and hills, were enongh for him. They moved forward at a brisk pace, in spite of their previous exertions and the new, unpacked snow. It was rough cotmtry — a region of sharp hills, narrow valleys and tangled thickets — through which their course led them; and before they reached their line of traps Dick, while jumping down a steep, snow- pillowed slope, tripped in the tops of some hidden brush. He was thrown forward heavily and buried to his wais^ in the drift, head-downward ; but one of his racquets was twisted sharply and held tight by the brush. As the strain came on his ankle he uttered a yelp of pain. Then he floundered and kicked in the powdery snow, and so made matters much worse. The snow smothered him and the pain in his imprisoned, twisted ankle was like a hot knife-blade in the joint. Sober Sam dropped his pack at Dick's cry, turned and sprang to his assistance. First of all he lifted his head and shoulders to the surface, and then he leaned back and cut the thong of the twisted racquet and so released the injured foot. Dick was breathless and pale. Sam, who was as 1 }\ 86 COMHADES OF THE TRAILS li strong as a little horse, lifted him tenderly down to a level spot a few yards distant. He gathered bark and dry branches and soon had a fire blaz- ing. Close to this he placed the sufferer, on a couch of fir boughs, and with deft fingers and ready knife he removed the moccasin and woollen stockings from the throbbing foot. He found the ankle hot and swollen. " You done um, Dick! " he muttered. " You lay up one-two day, I guess. Dat dam pity, too." "Oh! It's just a twist," returned Dick, through clenched te^-ch. " It will be right in an hotu or so. Just a bit of a strain, I think." Sober Sam made an examination of the joint which brought drops of moisture out on Dick's brow. " Dat a'right," he said, at last. " Nothin' broke, I guess. Now me fix um, Dick. Me a'mighty good doctor." He melted snow at the fire and wet several handsfuU of soft moss which he had collected from a tree near-by. This he bound snugly around the ankle, using strips of flannel from the lining of his coat for bandages. Over this bulky dressing he drew the largest of the woollen stock- ings. ^f A WRENCHED ANKLE 87 " Hang it all! " exclaimed Dick. " This is beastly hard luck! " " Not luck so much as you jump too dam care- less," returned the other, sorrowfully. " You lam to do him bettei next time, maybe. You fall down hard like dat in summer-time, an' hit r -k 'stead of snow, an' you break your dam neck, I guess. But dat a'right, Dick. Plenty u.jan I know jes' much big fool as you." " To hear you jaw " said Dick, smiling in spite of the pain in his ankle, " one would think I'd done the trick on purpose. But what are you up to now, Sam? " " Make camp an' get heap of w^ood," replied the other. " Den light out for shack an' get grub an' lin'ment. No good to move you for one-two day." Dick did not relish the prospect of the " one- two " days of helplessness so casually mentioned by his companion. He believed " one -two " days to be a very vague period of time. Now in a comfortable bed, or in an easy-chair by a cheery health, with plenty of books to read, the thing might not be so bad ; but in the heart of the winter wilderness, alone most of the time (for traps must be attended to), with a hole in the snow for bed ! i* •1 i*. it? 1' '''' Ma* f" 'I )* ? I 88 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS and the frozen sky and crowding spruces for book, it promised to be dull. And a still more un- pleasant thought came to him. Suppose the Thing. vvhate\er it was, that cried so terrifically in the night, should find him when he was alone and helpk s on his back? Sober Sam worked quickly and soon had Dick propped comfortably on a couch of fir boughs, deep and springy, with a heap of wood close at hand to keep the fire supplied for many hours. Beside the stack of fuel he placed Dick's rifle. Close to the fire he set the kettle and frying-pan; and, after a moment's hesitation, he placed beside them the flesh that had been i-.tended for bait. He planned, of course, to be back in a few hours with plenty of food; but, having spent a life- time in the wilderness he was not such a fool as to be too sure of anything. Three hours dragged slowly away, bringing nothing to disturb or entertain Dick save two whiskey-jacks. Dick wondered if these were the same couple of trappers that had visited them a few miles away. They attacked his caribou meat with the energy and greed of those great nations to which Sam had assigned the other birds, and he was forced to shy sticks at them to keep them t;. A WRENCHED ANKLE 89 away. Another hour passed and twilight, red and level lut of the west, began to creep around him. A hare, white as the snow, fled across the little clearing. Three more whiskey- jacks joined the first coiiple. A red fox appeared, for a second, at the edge of the bush, on the trail of the hare, and vanished as silently and swiftly as the wink- ing of an eye. Darkness flooded the wilderness and the cold btars glinted above the spires of spruce and fir and the strong, black towers of the pines. An owl passed close overhead, like a white shadow, noiseless as smoke. Dick fed the fire with a generous hand, driving back the shadows with the red and yellow glow of it. Unwelcome memcnes of that other night that he had spent in the snow, when those frightful, indescribable cries had chilled his blood, came to him with daunting vividness. He drew his rifle to his knees and snapped a shell into the breech. " I hope that night didn't make a coward of me," he muttered. Suddenly he became conscious of two yellow- green sparks, motionless and low down, shining weirdly from the black shadows beyond the circle of firelight. The discovery gave him a shock, It !■ 90 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS brief but disquieting. Then he realized, by their proximity to the snow, that they must be the eyes of some animal and not of the nameless thing that he feared. He sat very still, watching those sparks of pale, yellow-green flame. At last they shifted a little, a foot or two to the left. He won- dered if they belonged to lynx, fox, wolf or wolver- ine, or to what other hunter of the night. Need- less to say, he felt no fear; for he could not think of any animal of those parts that would venture to attack a man beside a fire. " It doubtless possesses a good pelt, whatever it is," he reflected. " It is worth a try, anyway." He raised his rifle; but before his eye cotdd find the sights the watchful sparks had vanished. He kept very quiet for ten or fifteen minutes, with his rifle ready, thumb on hammer and finger on trigt,er; but the yellow-green eyes did not show themselves again. He put more wood on the fire, and presently he dozed. He was disturbed by something — the suggestion of a swift, noiseless movement at his elbow — and opening his eyes and turning quick as a flash he saw that the larger of the two lumps of caribou flesh had van- ished. He was startled, but interested. The daring and skill of the thief touched his admira- A WRENCHED ANKLE 91 tion. He reached forward, pulled a blazing stick from the fire, and by its light examined the snow beside, where the great lump of frozen meat had so recently been. He foimd a distinct trail in the soft snow, but a trail that he could not read, for it was evident that the animal that had made it had dragged itself forward on its belly. Then a disquieting thought came to him. Might not a human being make just such a trail, crawling flat.? He shifted his position a little, so that he could keep his eye on the darkness behind him. After another half-hour of anxious waiting, Dick heard Sober Sam's welcome shout. Five minutes later Sam appeared beside him and low- ered a pack consisting of provisions and two sleeping-bags to the snow. " You were away a long time," said Dick. " Anything the matter? " " T'ief in de shack, dat all," replied Sam, im- passively. " A thief! Do you mean that a bear broke in.'' — or what kind of thief are you talking about r " asked Dick, nervously. The old woodsman seated himself close to the fire and began to unpack the things he had brought i-«t;s'«'f' IK I I F1; !'■ 92 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS from the shack. " Maybe b'ar, maybe not b'ar," he said. " B'ar's tracks, a'right; but he shut door behind jes' like man. He take some ham. some tea an' some sugar, an' don't spill nothin' on de floor." " A man! Of course it was a man! " exclaimed Dick. " But what do you mean about a bear's tracks? " Sam smiled. " Mean marks of b'ar's feet go right up to shack an' away again — an' no marks of man's feet at all." " That beats me! " admitted Dick. "Maybe man, maybe b'ar — but most like it spirit of dat Pierre," said Sam. " Spirits can do most anything, Dick. Smart trick to walk like ol' b'ar, you bet." Dick tried i. argue the old man out of his absurd belief, but had to give it up. "That's the spirit I'm after," he said, when he at last gave up the argument. " It's the same spirit that raised my hair with its cries one night, and cut off the caribou steak with a sharp knife. I think that a bullet will stop the fooling of a spirit that steals ham and tea." " You dam smart feller, Dick," returned the other. " You catch dat spirit some day, I guess, A WRENCHED ANKLE 93 an* shoot him — 'less he yell like he done before an' scare you too bad." Dick was silent for a moment; but presently he said, " A thief visited me, too. Just take a look at these marks, Sam. I can't make them out." Sam possessed himself with a torch from the fire and examined the queer trail in the snow with interest. He even followed it back into the woods for fifteen or twenty yards. " Dat big painter," he said. " Big mountain cat with long tail, not like lynx. A '.nighty bad feller, dat painter! He big as two lynx, I guess. Don't see many 'round dis country. Live up in big hills mostly. Dam glad he didn't jump atop of you, Dick." "So am I," said Dick; but he was greatly relieved to learn that his silent visitor had been nothing more unusual rnd unexplainable than a mountain panther. Sam bathed the injured ankle with liniment, helped the sufferer i.ito his sleeping- bag, and gathered more wood for the fire. " I am not sleepy," said Dick. " Better fill your pipe, Sam, and tell me what we are going to do about that thief. Spirit or bear or man, we can't afford to let it carry off our grub." I 94 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS ti " Set two trap for him, anyhow, under snow outside door," replied Sam. "If he b'ar, good enough. If he man, maybe catch him too. If he spirit of Pierre Lacross — well, dat a'right. Gruess he won't t'ief no more to-night, anyhow." Dick awoke next morning to find that the sun- light was already flooding low through the eastern forests and that breakfast was ready. Sam was smoking his pipe, with empty plate and mug in front of him. He brought bacon, biscuits and tea to Dick and then undressed and examined his ankle again. The swelling was considerably reduced. " Guess you move tomorrow, a'right," he said. Then he slipped his feet into the thongs of his racquets and took up his rifle. " Are you going to leave me alone all day? *' asked Dick. Sam nodded. " Got to tend traps east of the pond, Dick — an' squint at shack, I guess. I catch dat queer b'ar in one trap, maybe." " So you don't really think it is Pierre Lacross, after all," said Dick, quickly. " You are not such a fool as you pretend to be, Sam." "Oh! I t'ink plenty you don't understand," returned the old fellow, grinning. " If I catch dat t'ief in trap den I say him no spirit." A WRENCHED ANKLE 95 "That's reasonable," said Dick, laughing. •• But see here, Sam, get back as early as you can, will you? This is not a pleasant country to sleep alone in, with such queer kinds of thieves prowling about in it." *■ ^m^ I ! I I 1 ; , I I- # iv CHAPTER VIII MORE SIGNS OF THE QUEER THIEF Dick spent a tiresome day, with only the whiskey-jacks and his thoughts for company. Sam had left enough wood to keep the fire sup- plied, and he managed to get his own simple dinner without standing on his lame foot. He saw nothing more of the mountain panther. However, greatly to his relief and surprise, Sober Sam returned early in the afternoon. " Pretty darn queer tricks! " exclaimed the old man. " Last night both t'iefs come to shack — both de painter an' de b'ar, De tracks run side by side, right up to door an' away again." " Great Scot! " cried Dick. " A panther and a bear hunting together! I never heard anything like that before." " Me too. Darn queer tricks." " And what about the traps? " "Traps dug up an' sprung — an' hung up inside de shack." " Bless my soul ! The place must be bewitched. " 96 SIGNS OF THE QUEER THIEF 97 "A 'mighty strong medicine-man 'round here, anyhow. You bet! " Dick was bewildered and his nerve was some- what shaken. The thought of a panther and a bear hunting together and springing traps and hanging them up in the shack was too much even for his courage and hard head. It was almost enough to make even an Englishman believe in spirits and the magic of medicine-men. " Did they take much, this time? " he asked. " Queer t'ing, dat," replied Sam, scratching his hairless, mahogany chin. " Nothin' stole but some baccy, and someone drink a mug of tea." " Do bears drink tea and smoke? or do pan- thers? or do spirits? " Sam shook his head. " Medicine-man drink tea and smoke, an' turn himself into b'ar whenever he he like — if he got mighty potent medicine." "And what about an ordinary man?" asked Dick. " Didn't you see any ordinary man-tracks around the shack? " " No. Follow dat b'ar's tracks most two mile, I guess; an' den got kinder scart an' quit. Dat medicine too a'mighty strong for Sam. Guess we shift camp into nother country pretty soon, Dick." •Mi- 98 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS " Guess again," returned Dick, making use of an expression he had learned at Wolf's Landing. He stared moodily at the fire. This was a good fur-country, and he did not relish the idea of making a move of fifty or a hundred miles, in mid-winter, perhaps into a poorer country. But if robbers possessed of the feet of wild beasts and the brains and fingers of men persisted in taking toll of his provisions and his traps, there would be nothing else for it but a change of ground — unless the strange thief, or thieves, could be brought to book. " Honestly, Sam, did you ever see a medicine- man.? " he asked. "Yes. A'mighty good medicine-man up in Long Arrow country, ten year ago. Dat one had pler^y strong magic, Dick. Skin-um-mink was his name." " Could he turn himself into a bear.? " "Yes, you bet! Or into a httle chickadee- bird, too." " Did you ever see him turn into either a bear or a bird.? " Sam shook his head. " No. He wouldn't do it when anyone was lookin'." "Sam," said Dick, earnestly, "we must keep %V"'1HEH9IW1B1W SIGNS OF THE QUEER THIEF 99 cool. This is a good country, and we don't want to leave it unless we jolly well have to. The sooner we track down that thing that walks like a bear and drinks tea like a man, and learn exactly what it is, the better for us and our business. It takes pretty strong magic, you know, to beat a well handled rifle." "Maybe so, Dick," replied Sam. "Anyhow, we go look for dat t'ief soon as you can walk. Maybe we find out all about him — an' all about dat painter, too." The old man spoke hopefully; but the belief that they were being preyed upon by a bad medi- cine-man of strong magic was firm in his mind. In the days of his youth his old grandmother had told him hundreds of tales of the doings of bad medicine-men — not as f;i :ry stories but as authentic history. His own great-grandfather had been a medicine-man of more than local fame and (according to the old dame's story) had ended his career in a most unusual and dis- tressing manner. His favourite amusement had been to run about in the form of a little hare; and, one day, while indulging in this diversion, a hunter had shot him with an arrow and, a few hours later, eaten him for supper. Sober Sam I n n\ i 1.1 11 100 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS believed this tale : so it is not to be wondered at that he felt anxious and did not want to investi- gate the mystery of the thief until Dick could join him in the adventure. He said that he had followed the tracks of the bear for a distance of two miles from the shack. I. had seemed two miles to him, no doubt; but it had really been a trifle less than half a mile. Sober Sam kept Dick company in the open that night, frankly admitting that he was afraid to sleep alone in the shack. The night passed without accident or excitement of any kind, and early in the morning they set out for the shack. The swelling had almost entirely gone from Dick's ankle, though it was still very tender — too tender to allow of the foot being touched to the ground. Sam made a rough sort of crutch and fastened one of the racquets to the end of it. By the help of this, and with the other racquet on his uninjured foot, Dick found that he could move slowly along his companion's well beaten trail. So they set out, Sam leading and carrying both rifles and every pound of the kit. Dick pegged along like a hero; but after covering half a mile in an hour he was forced to call a halt. A home-made crutch with a snow-shoe on the end SIGNS OF THE QUEER THIEF 101 of it is not an easy thing for a lame man to manip- ulate. After a half- hour's rest he went at it again. It was mid-afternoon when the shack was reached ; and by that time Dick was fairly done. Sam helped him off with his outer clothing and tucked him away in his bunk. Three days passed before Dick could again bear his weight on his left foot. During those three days and nights no further signs of either the bear or the panther had appeared. On the third night after Dick's painful journey snow fell heavily. So Dick kept to the shack for another day and again Sam went out alone to attend to the traps. The old man took a kettle and grub with him, for he expected to go to the western line and not get back until after stmset. Dick busied himself with mending his clothes and stretching pelts until after dinner-time. After cooking and eating liberal rations of pork and pan-cakes, and topping off with stewed prunes, he climbed into his bunk and fell asleep. Dick was not a heavy sleeper. Suddenly he opened his eyes, all his senses instantly alert. He lay very still, wondering what had awakened him. He wa'-. sure that he had heard something, and yet not so much as an echo of the sound re- I M^ ti';i 102 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS mained with him. Presently he got noiselessly from his bimk, took his rifle from the wall and went over to the tiny window. He looked out and by the failing light could see nothing but the le\'el, pallid snow and the black spruces. Then he went to the door, withdrew the wooden bolt and cautiously opened it. Greatly to his relief, nothing was there. He pulled the door of rough- hewn planks wide open and stepped outside. " Now what was it that wakened me? " he mur- mured. " I must have heard something." At that moment, as if in answer to his question, the sharp report of a rifle cracked out, somewhere in the woods to the north and not far away. Then he felt sure that the sound that had awakened him had been the report of a rifle. " Surely Sam can't have lost himself," he re- flected. " By the sound of that shot ^ should say that he must be within a few yards of the lake." He drew a dog-whistle from his pocket and blew a shrill blast. Then he waited by the open door; and in a few minutes Sober Sam appeared, running heavily. Dick stepped aside, and Sam entered the shack at full speed, with his snow- shoes still on his feet, s^^-ung around as fast as he could and slammed and bolted the door. SIGNS OF THE QUEER THIEF 103 " Great Scot! " cried Dick, " what is the matter with you? " The old man dropped his rifle, kicked his racquets from his feet and flopped down on the edge of his bimk. He was breathless, and his round face was rather less the shade of old ma- hogany than usual. He coiild not speak for a minute or two. This gave Dick quite a turn. He went over to the old chap and patted him on the back. " Are you ill? " he asked. " By Jovt Sam, you don't look at all fit. Are you hurt? Are you ill? And what the mischief were you sniping at? " " Hoi' on," gasped Sam. " You ax questions too dam quick." After a while he said, "I get a 'mighty big scar' Dick, I see some darn queer things. Hark ! what's dat noise? " Dick listened. " I don't hear anything," he said. " You are rattled ! " Sam crossed to the little window and peeped cautiously out; but by now it was almost dark and his vision did not carry more than a few yards from the shack. He moved over to the door, stood for a minute with his ear to the 104 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS i r llli crack, then opened it an inch or two. Dick joined him. " Look here, Sam, what in thunder is the matter with you? " he asked, thoroughly anxious about his companion's behaviour. Sam closed and fastened the door and returned to his seat on the edge of his bunk. " Guess it didn't foller me," he said. He filled his pipe, lit it and the smoky lantern with one match, and then told of the following remarkable adven- tures. On leaving the shack early that morning, Sam had intended to follow the western line of traps ; but, at a whim, he had changed his course and travelled northward instead. The northward line ran along the left-hand bank of the lake for about three miles, rounded the top of the pond and led back to the shack by way of the right-hand shore. Through a shortage of traps only seven were set on this line — about one to every mile. It was a good country, too, and fairly easy to travel. Sam reached the first trap, only to find that a wolverine had taken the bait and got safely away. Grunt- ing his disgust, he hung the trap in a tree, in- tending to reset and rebait it next day. As he could not find the tracks of the wolverine he knew that the trap had been visited prev^ious to * SIGNS OF THE QUEER THIEF 106 the snow-fall of the night. The second trap had the bait still in it. That did not please him greatly, for he woidd rather have found a mink, or even a red fox. Tramping onward, he soon came to the low-lying, tangled country at the head of the lake. This region was a swamp in summer, full of sodden hummocks of moss, pools of black and stagna it water, thickets of alders and spruce-tuck, wi h the grey boles of water- killed hemlocks and pines standing here and there in desolate groups. The place was never inviting, summer or winter, spring or autumn; but in winter, when the black pools were floored with ice and shrouded deep with snow, a man could travel it with comparative ease, and it promised good fur. Sam had set two traps in the swamp, and he entered it with high hopes of mink. Following certain guiding marks, he soon came to the place that he had selected for the nearer of the two traps. But he could not find it. Thinking he had made a mistake, he retraced his steps for fifty yards or so, picked out his land-marks again and made another try. It brought him to the same spot. He was puzzled, for the trap had been chained to a solid root far beneath the snow. * 106 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS I I » ml ' vt He tramped around and around, beating the bushes; but he could not find so much as a sign of that trap. At last he gave it up as a bad job and went on to examine the other. He found the place where he had set it easily enough; but that was all. This trap, like the other, had van- ished. Sam beat the thickets, dug about in the snow, scared up into the branches of the trees; but he might just as well have saved himself the trouble. Then he began to wonder if he had ever set the traps in the swamp at all. Perhaps he had only dreamed it. Or perhaps his mind was going wrong. At last he sat down on a fallen hemlock, pulled out his pipe and lit it, and tried to cool his mind and think it all out. He smoked and thought for fifteen . uutes, and at the end of that time found himself no wiser than at the beginning. At last he knocked the ashes out of his pipe and got l.j his feet — and then he heard something that made his scalp tickle under his fur cap. A shrill, long-drawn screaming yell rang through the frozen air. For a moment Sam was fairly staggered, think- ing of spirits and medicine-men, for there was no doubt in his mind that this was the same cry that had given Dick such a fright away over at SIGNS OF THE QUEER THIEF 107 the edge of the western barren. Again the terrible voice shattered the quiet of the wilderness; and now the grip of fear left Sam's tough old heart, for he recognized it as the voice of the painter, or mountain panther. It was years since he had seen or heard one of these big cats. He had never before known one of them to visit the Little Beaver country. He snapped a shell into the breech of his riile and continued on his way; but he "kept his eye skinned," as they say in the woods. Unusually hungry and courageous painters have been known to drop out of trees upon men's shoulders, just as they do upon the necks of deer and caribou. So the old trapper kept a sharp lookout on every side and overhead as he forced his way through the tangled thickets. Again he heard the cry, still in front of him but much nearer. Twenty minutes later he won clear of the swamp. Here the land was higher, the trees were larger and stood farther apart, and such little underbrush as there was lay buried beneath the long, gradual drifts of snow. Sam halted and gazed in every diiection, hoping to catch a glimpse of the big cat. But it was no- where in sight. "Too dam bad," he muttered. "Like to ^3r 1^^ I 108 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS shoot him fust-rate. A'mighty fine skin, maybe, an* Gover'ment bounty too." A glance at the sun told him that Ihe hour was well past noon, so he built his fire, filled his kettle with snow to melt for his tea, and made a comfortable seat of fir boughs. It was a pleasant placp to lunch in and rest for an hour, and there was just a chance that the panther might hang around, attracted by the smell of frying pork, and even show himself. So while Sam fried the pork and steeped the tea he kept his eyes moving and his rifle in his left hand. And while he ate his simple fare his rifle lay ready across his knees. ii m CHAPTER IX SOBER SAM's adventure IS CONTINUED Sober Sam ate in peace, without being dis- turbed by sight or sound of the panther. After the fourth slice of pork and the fourth mug of milkless tea, he cleaned the empty dishes with snow and placed them close to the fire to dry. Then he lit his pipe and leaned back comfortably on his couch of elastic branches. He was still puzzling over the case of the two traps that had vanished from the swamp; but his mind was somewhat clouded by the weight of pork and tea in his stomach. Like many of his race Sam was inclined to feast too heartily when plenty of food was at hand. In the time of famine he could pull in his belt with the best of them. For about fifteen minutes Sam reclined on his back, gazing straight up at the thin, fleckless blue sky. Then he turned over on his right elbow, perhaps to shift the position of his mighty dinner. His vision carried far among the tall, wide- standing trees, over the white levels of snow. 109 ]i^,'',-l fj 110 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS There seemed to be no life at aU in the wilderness — no cry or movement of bird or beast. The frosty sunlight sifted down through the spreading branches of spruce, pine and fur, and traced pale blue shadows on the snow. "Darn fine country," murmured Sam; "but can't t'ink what's de trouble with dem traps. Dat beats me all fell, you bet! " Just then the stillness was broken by a chuck- ling laugh. Yes, a laugh — an unpleasant, clat- tering chuckle. Sam sat straight up, as if a spring had been touched inside him. He raised his rifle and stared about him with amazed and frightened eyes. Again he felt all the hairs of his head tingle at their roots, as if every last one of them was trying to pull itself away from the scalp. A human laugh is a terrible sound to hear in an unpeopled wilderness — unexpected, unexplained, unpro- voked. " Must be some kinder bird," gasped Sam, in a cracked voice. But he did not really think so. The uncanny laughter had sounded from straight ahead and not far away; but Sam could not see anything. He got quietly to his feet, tied on his racquets with trembling fingers and, forgetting his dishes, started slowly along the back trail SOBER SAM'S ADVENTURE 111 with his chin on his shoulder. He had not gone more ^hai\ ;r doz'^.n yards, however, before some- thing - r. soundl<- b warning tingling through the air an! louching nis brain — caused him to look ahead. There, crossing his trail like a tawny shadow, slipped the big panther. Its head was turned toward the old trapper and its pale, mer- ciless eyes met his with a steady, flaming, de- risive regard. Sam halted, and terror went over him like a wave of icy water — terror at the thought that this big cat and the unseen creature that had laughed were one and the same. They must be one and the same! — a master of magic! For a second of two he stared at the panther and the panther glared back unblinkingly ; then, moving swiftly but without any effort at haste,' it vanished among the trees. Sam was in a terrible funk. He was not a coward, and would have stood up to three bona fide, guaranteed panthers without turning a hair — that is, without turning a hair of his own. What he might do to the hairs and hides of the panthers, in such a case, is more than I can say. But of magic, medicine-men and spirits he stood in deadly terror. He moved forward, shaking and stumbling, afraid to run and just as much afraid r" I i: 112 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS of going too slowly. AH the weird stories that he had ever heard crowded into his quaking mind. Suddenly that terrible laughter rang out again — and it was still behind him ! Sam turned so quickly that he fouled one rac- quet with the other and so brought himself heavily to his knees. This threw him in an absolute panic and he uttered a horror-stricken cry as he struggled to his feet. He was facing in the di- rection of the laugh now — and far away between the ranks of trees he saw something large and black standing straight, motionless and bulky among the shadow^^. It had a menacing, un- natural look about it; but the nearer glare of sunlight on snow and the farther twilight of twisted shadows bothered Sam's eyes so that he could not be sure whether the thing was a man, a beast or some grotesque stump. But fear had driven reason from his mind. Scarcely knowing what he did he raised his rifle and fired. It was a wild shot — perhaps the wildest he had ever made in all his long life. He saw one of the lower branches of a fir quake and spill its load of snow. That was all the good he had accomplished by that mad shot. And now the thing among the S-! ' i: tfts^l > SOBER SAM'S ADVENTURE 113 shadows moved forward, walking upright like a man. Sam turned again and ran at top speed. Sam Kcpt to his old trail, though he was scarcely conscious of it. At the edge of the swamp the panther slipped across a little clearing in front of him, about fifty yards away. He let {\y, without bringing the rifle to his shoxilder or halting for an instant. That shot was even wider than the first. The panther vanished and that terrible laughter rang again in the forest behind. Sam did not turn his head, but continued to race forward at top speed, leaping obstructions like a champion hurdler. The new, unpacked snow lodged on his broad racquets; but he shook it clear as he ran. He was winged b ear, for he was sure by now that two magiciaru instead of one were after him. Sam was half-way through the swamp before his pace slackened. He was utterly winded, and all the bad magic between Quebec and Hudson Bay could not have got another jump out of him just then. He dropped to his knees and panted like a dog. He was sound of wind and limb, how- ever, and in a minute was on his feet again. Shut in by the lifeless, tangled growth of the swamp, he could not see for more than a few yards • ; H I 114 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS in any direction. He glanced nervously around snapped a shell from the magazine into the breech of his rifle, and started on again at a Iv- og He was anxious to get out of the swamp .s soon as possible. He kept his neck on the twist dreading an ambush or a rear attack, and had not made more than a hundred yards before he saw the panther leap into the trail about twenty feet behind him. Twisting around from the hips, without turning his feet, he fired. The bullet snipped into the si.ow where the panther had stood. The big cat was a quick jumper. Sam raced onward at a greatly accelerated pace. At last Sam reached the more open ^orest be- yond the swamp, jogged to the brow of a little hill and turned to see if anything followed. Also he wanted to recover his wind again, for running through the woods on racquets, in new-fallen snow, is not the same sport as loping along a cmder track. Neither of his terrible pursuers was in sight. Through the trees on his left he saw the wide, white expanse of Two-Fox Pond and it occurred to him that there lay his safest road home. Once on the lake, he would command a clear and expansive view in every direction. He was just out of the underbrush and had his SOBER SAM'S ADVENTURE 115 feet on the level surface, when that diabolical laughter sounded again, but now a long distance to the rear. It was near enough, however, to send the old trapper forward on the jump. He was a good fifty yards from the shore before he looked behind him. Seeing nothing, he shaped his course for the upper end of the pond, walking at a good pace. Sober Sam had not covered more than a mile of the distance between the head of the lake and the shack when he again caught sight of the panther. It was running level with him, just at the edge of the heavy timber that rimmed the lake. Sam halted and brought his rifle to his shoulder; but a little clot of snow fouled the fore-sight. Muttering an oath, he lowered the weapon and quickly brushed the snow away with his left hand; but the panther had noticed his preparations and leapt out of sight among the trees. Anger tinged the old trapper's fear. " You seem a'mighty scart of a rifle! " he snarled, and fired at the spot where the beast had vanished. He snapped another cartridge into the breech and waited. His fear of the panther had dwindled, and so had his respect for it, for anyone possessed of real, potent magic 'ould be proof against 116 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS buUets; but the thought of the bulky, black thing that looked like a bear and laughed like a man still daunted his tough old heart. " Guess I wait few minutes," he muttered. "Guess I try one more shot at dat dam painter." Now he began to feel the effects of his wild run, so he squatted on his racquets and smoked his pipe, keeping his face toward the wall of forest behind which he believed the big cat to be lurking. The tobacco tasted good and the rest was very welcome. Ten minutes passed, twenty minutes passed — and then, as sudden and quick as a flash of light, the panther sprang from cover, screamed derisively and sprang back again. Sam was so astonished at this meaningless and unnatural antic that he almost lost his balance and forgot to fire. He was so angry when he recovered his balance and self-possession that the thing that laughed like a man was forgotten. "Dat painter one darn fool," he muttered. He t'ink he scar' me dat time, I guess. Maybe I scar' him instead - if he give me good chance. He come too darn suddent dat time; but no yellin' F)ainter can fool Sobe- Sam twice in de same day." So he continued to wait, crouching in the snow on his broad racquets and gazing at the woods. CTLrSS^iirdSi •^cfsjimifz -vafxmmfia* /j'^.r^fitiT IT WAS ADVA NCI. NC, WAI.KIM; ri'NlClir l.IKK A MAN. ■; w if' . i ... h • m n . ' I, ;,ersy^-_ C^J, •* SOBER SAM'S ADVENTURE 117 For a long time he remained as motionless as a stump; and then, suddenly and with a twinge of consternation, he realized that the early twilight was gathering over the wilderness He straight- ened hin^self with a jerk. " Guess I better not wait any more," he said —and at that moment he caught sight of something big and black on the snow at the edge of the woods. It was ad- vancing, walking upright like a man, its great arms extended. Even in the failing light his horrified gaze showed him that its head, limbs and bulky body were those of a bear. Forgetting to use his rifle he turned toward the lower end of the lake — and just then that terrible laughter rang abroad. Uttering a low cry, he dashed away. Another volley of laughter followed him. Over the level surface of the pond he ran as he had never run before. All his anger had fled and he was inspired by nothing but immixed terror. He had made about five himdred yards when he became aware of the long, slinking form of the panther in front of him. He fired, still running at full speed and without pretending to take aim, and the panther sprang away to the cover of the woods. That was the shot that awakened Dick from his nap. 1 h fil; S; 118 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS As Sam neared the lower end of the lake he fired again, hysterically, though neither of his tormentors was in sight. A few minutes later he reached the shack, breathless, dashed in with his snow-shoes still on his tcet and slammed and bolted the door behind him. Dick Ramsey listened to the old trapper's story with the deepest interest and, at first, with de- cided quakings of apprehension. But as the story progressed he began to think that he saw through the black magic, or bad medicine, or what ever it was. He had a keen mind, and his wits had ' been shaken like poor old Sam's. At the conclusion of the tale he felt convinced that he could explain the whole thing — to his own satisfaction, at least. " That panther," said he, " is just an ordinary panther, and the same one that stole the caribou meat from me the other night. There is no doubt about it." " Dam smart one, anyhow! Smartest painter I ever see," returned Sam. " And the thing that looked like a bear and laughed like a man, is a man," continued Dick. Also, it is the same man that robbed our traps and used to make round holes in the snow when it SOBER SAM'S ADVENTURE 119 walked. Now it makes tracks like a bear — sometimes, at least — but for all that he is the same sly fellow who has been bothering us, and trying to drive us out of the country, ever siifce we began work. He is no more a medicine-man than I am — I'll bet my hat on that! He is nothing but a clever, mean robber! " "He look just Hke b'ar," said Sam, "and he make b'ar's tracks a'right. He walk like b'ar 'round de shack, an' sometime he walk like man." "He was dressed up." said Dick. "That is the only thing in which he resembles one of your blessed old medicine-men. At first — when we first saw signs of him — he wore those silly, round, pot-lid snow-shoes ail the time ; but now he puts on his bear-skin when he wants to take a rise out of us. And I don't believe he really owns that skin, either — I believe it belongs to us. Do you remember the bear you found ir the dead- fall, without any hide on him? " " You dam smart feller, Dick," returned Sam, " so maybe you tell me what dat b'ar an' dat painter hunt together for, just like two partners, if dey be nothin' but one ordin'ry man an' one ordin'ry painter, an' don't have no a'mighty strong magic to help 'em? " '01 ^'l** '!;*•• I: I,. 120 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS Dick was puzzled by the question, though he tried not to show it. " That was just a coinci- dence." he said. "The panther just happened to be there, and was interested in you on his own account." Sober Sam snorted. " Den why didn't he hunt dat other feller.?-de man hke a b'ar -an' leave me alone.? Tell me dat, will you? You a'mighty smart feller. Dick, but you all wrong now. Dat painter an' dat ol' b'ar be partners, an' have mighty strong magic in 'em, too. De b'ar has, anyhow." " Don't worry about the magic! " cried Dick " You talk like a child ! That is a man. I tell you' and the other thing is a panther. They may be partners, for aU I know; but a bullet would let the magic out of either of them. It is a pity that you were so frightened. If your head was not so fi 11 of those cock-and-bull stories we might be skmnmg that panther now. I wish I h ad been there. I rather think I should have made them both hop a bit." " Like you done to dat bull moose." returned Sam, quietly. "Oh! I made him hop," laughed Dick. A smile flickered across the old trapper's dusky ^OJL^^^J^Ljf^ SOBER SAM'S ADVEXTURE 121 face — just flickered and was gone in a second. "Joke mighty fine t'ing at right time," he said, " but dis ain't right time, I guess. All right for to say how you made dat painter and dat other t'ing hop, maybe, when you shoot at 'em; but all de time we get robbed of pelts an' traps an' grub. If dey not any kinder medicine-man, an' you not scart of 'em, Dick, you best go out pretty quick an' make 'em hop clean out of dis here country — o you an' me '11 'rave to hop out our- selves." "Of course I will go after them." said Dick. " But I think we'd better hunt them together. My ankle is not quite in shape for a hard tramp yet; but as soon as it is I'll get after that chap who is trying to frighten us away. I'U find his tracks and follow them right to headquarters." " Dat a'right, Dick. You can't chase 'em out a minute too quick to suit me," replied Sam. " Never knowed afore how it felt like to be real scart. Don't like it, neither. Guess we got to shift camp, Dick, 'less dat ol' b'ar dat laugh like a man shif first." For all Dick's big talk, he did not sleep very soundly that night. As for poor Sam, he did not even pretend to sleep but sat bolt upright in his 1 122 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS bunk until morning, with all his clothes on and his rifle ready. At the first break of dawn he left his bunk and went to the window. More snow had fallen during the night, and slow, broad flakes were still circUng down. By this time Dick had fallen into a heavy sleep ; so Sam moved noiseless about, trying to divert his mind with house-work. He started a roaring fire on the hearth, folded the blankets in his bunk, trimmed the wick of the lantern and put an extra polish on the tin plates and mugs. He knew, all the time, that what he really should do was go down to the hole at the edge of the po- with axe and bucket, and get water. He put on his moccasins and once even got so. far as to withdraw the bolt of the door — but then fear of that bulky medi- cine-man overcame him. The arguments of his companion had rolled off his superstitious mind as drops of water roll off the wings of a loon. He had seen a bear and a panther hunting in com- pany! — and if that is not a sign and a proof of black, potent magic, what is? The sky bright- ened to pale grey; and still he could not quite make up his mind to leave the shack. But water was required . At last he went over to Dick's bunk and laid his hand on the youth's shoulder. Dick SOBER SAM'S ADVENTURE 123 jumped up, quick as thought, and grabbed hini by the throat. " Hi! You quit! " yelled Sam. Then Dick opened his eyes, stared vaguely around, and blushed at last. "I beg pardon, Sam," he stammered, " but it's your own fault. I was dreaming about that beastly medicine-man of yours. He was making for me, on his hind legs — and when he got me by the shoulder with one paw I went for his throat." " So you scart too," said Sam. " Not on your life! " exclaimed Dick. " Den you go get some water," returned the old tribesman. Iff I ml CHAPTER X TRAPPERS' LUCK. THE MOOSE - YARD. THE BULL- MOOSE AND THE PANTHER The trappers did not go far a-field on the day following Sober Sam's ner\'e-shattering adventure. The old woodsman, who had faced a thousand risks of flood and forest, frost and hunger, during his long and hard hfe in the wilds of the north, seemed actuaUy weakened by his experience of the previous evening. He looked ill and jumped at every sound. Dick tried to laugh him out of his fears; but laughter proved to be as useless as argument. So he told the old man that he needed a rest — that the hard run had knocked him out. At last Sam consented to retire to his bunk and be waited upon. Dick got in the day's and night's supply of wood, brought water up from the hole in the ice of the pond, and did all the cooking. Between these jobs he worked at such pelts as required handling and tried to cheer Sam with stories of his nld home in England and of his life at school. He tramped around the shack half a 124 TRAPPERS' LUCK 125 dozen times and twice went for a considerable distance into the woods, but failed to discover any trace of the mysterious poachers. By the time supper was ready Sam's spirits were im- proved. This was partly owing to Dick's stories, no doubt, but mostly to the fact that the terrible pursuers had not ventured to follow him all the way to the shack. So he ate his supper with some- thing like his old appetite, and afterwards smoked his pipe and told some amusircj tales of his own past. The night passed without alarm. Sam was still feeling a trifle "jumpy" in the morning, so Dick went out alone to attend to the nearer traps. He promised not to go far or be absent long. He took the westward line, and as his old trail was hidden he I>ad to move slowly. He was not yet an expert woodsman and found a good deal of difficulty in detecting his landmarks. One tree looked very much like another to him. But here and there he had " blazed " the way with an axe, and so managed to find the whereabouts of the traps without much loss of time. The first trap was empty; the second contained a lynx, frozen as stiff as wood ; and in the ^hird he found that which sent his blood racing madly through his 126 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS veins. It was a fox — a big fox, in perfect con- dition — and its fur was as black as night. In other words, it was the prize of which northern trappers dream and tell wonderful stories — a black fox. Dick trembled with excitement as he freed the dead body from the jaws of the trap; and then, without waiting to reset the trap, he turned and started foj the shack, eager to let Sam know of this stroke of good fortune. The sight of that fox, the pelt of which might bring them :a\y sum from three hundred to seven hundred dollars, went a long way toward bringing Sober Sam to himself. In the northern wilderness — or in some parts of it, at least — the taking of a black fox is supposed to mean more good luck than just the sum of money it may represent. Sam believed this firmly and so felt that the Fates were taking a hand in the game and meant to play against the bad medicine-man that had been bothering him of latf He clapped Dick on the back and called him a mighty trapper, embraced the stifT and unconscious fox and then set about depriving it of its valuable coat in the most scientific manner. " Dick, we done fine job a'ready," he said as he worked over the fox. " I see plenty catches for whole season not so TRAPPERS' LUCK 127 good as we got a'ready. Some bar, some lynx, some bob-cat, six sable, ten ermine, plenty mink, plenty red fox, two patch an' one black fox. A'mighty big money we make, Dick, if we get him all out safe in de spring-time. Guess we stay in dis country 'till we get kicked right out." Dick was delighted to see the change in his companion. He remained in the shack imtil after dinner and then set out again, to do a couple of hours of trap-tending. He struck westward again, to take up the same line where he had left off. Making a short cut, he passed through some country that was entirely new to him. In a forest of thick, mixed timber, situated not more than a mile and a half from the shack, he came upon a well beaten trail that cut deep into the snow. A glance told him that it had been made by moose. He followed it for fifty yards and found that an- other trail of the same kind crossed it at a slant ; and, still following, he soon came to a place where a dozen or more deep-pitted trails crossed and recrossed each other, and where, here and there, great patches of snow had been beaten down as smooth as the surface of a winter hauling-road — in other words, not much smoother than a ploughed field. It was a moose-yard of large proportions, 128 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS and the first he had seen. He noticed vhai the lower branches of the trees in and around the centre of the yard had been stepped of every twig, and this explained to him the absence of the moose. He crawled into a thicket of bushy young firs, to wait and watch, hoping to see the owners of the yard and learn something of their habits. Also, he was interested in fresh moose - meat; but he did not intend to scatter the herd or family that made up the yard by shooting any member of it in the immediate vicinity. He would study them, and look them over, if he got the chance; and in a day or so he would lie in ambush on one of the outer trails. Twenty minutes passed before Dick was re- warded for his patience by any sign of the great animals. At last he heard a sound that s --ggested the walking of a heavy man, shod with hard boots, on the packed snow. A big cow appeared, walked slowly around one of the beaten patches, sniffed the snow here and there and the stubby branches from which the twigs had been torn, and then lay down with a grunt. She had evidently fed well in the outlying pastures of the forest. A yoimg bull soon came into sight — a yearling, by its size and appearance. It seemed to be in a frolic- n^ TRAPPERS' LUCK 129 some mood, pranced awkwardly about for a full minute and then raced away. Dick waited a little while longer, hoping for further develop- ments. Nothing more came to the centre of the yard, however, and the intense cold began to gnaw at his motionless limbs; so he started to work his way, backwards, out of the thicket. At the V ?ry first movement that he made the big cow came up on her feet like a flash and turned her great head and small black eyes on the thicket. It seemed to Dick that those little, glistening eyes had a dangerous look in them. He had heard many conflicting stories concerning the natures and habits of the moose — some depicting it as a mild and timid creature and others as a very devil of ferocity — and as he had no first- hand knowledge to go by he decided to judge this big ccw by appearances and act accordingly. So, feeling that appearances and circtunstances now called for absolute inaction (until the moose showed her hand, so to speak), he lay perfectly still. It was quHe evident that her glittering gaze did not detect him among the thick branches, and as there was not a breath of wind he hoped that she would not get his scent. His position was very uncomfortable; but he was afraid to 130 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS I move a finger. His rifle was still in its woollen case, and he knew that if he tried to get it out she would be upon him before he could take aim and fire — unless her looks greatly belied her nature. Her great hoofs fascinated him. He had heard on good authority that a moose's favourite manner of fighting is with the fore- hoofs — and even now she was pawing the snow briskly with one of them. How long he might have lain there, holding his breath and suffering from cold and cramp, it is hard to say, if an unexpected diversion had not taken place. A crashing and trampling of bushes and a swishing of branches sounded in front and to the left, and into the open, across it and into the woods beyond dashed a big bull-moose. His great head, with its weight of wide antlers, was thrown far back, and his small eyes fairly glowed with a comingling of terror and the fighting-light. Across his high shoulders, close to the base of the black neck, clung a panther. At this sight the cow snorted and cantered away, and Dick burst from the thicket and followed the trail of the bull at his best speed, snatching his rifle from its case as he ran. It was not the bull that he was after but the big panther, for he saw in it one of his ACROSS HIS Hir.H SHori.llKRS, CI.OSK TO THE ItASE (JF THF. lil.AlK \K( K. I'l.tNr; A PANTHER."' \k i U t-i 't/rm' =m „_._ TRAPPERS' LUCK 131 enemies -one of the two creatures that had given poor old Sober Sam such a bad time. Also the hold that the panther had on the moose did not appeal to his ideas of clean sport. He found httle difficulty in keeping to the right trail where It crossed and foUowed many others, for slender sprayings of blood stained the snow at frequent intervals. It was quite evident that the panther was holding on with both his fangs and his claws. Dick pushed along at his best pace, and owing to the fact that the moose did not run in a straight hne but circled often and dashed through every wall of close timber it could find, in the hope of scraping the panther off its back, he soon had It m sight. It was some time, however, and the the big buU was running more weakly, before he got a chance to shoot. It was not much of a chance, either, and he was so puffed that his hands were shaking. Halting, and dropping quickly on one knee, he brought the sights hastily and shakily in line against the body of the clinging panther an. : essed the trigger. To his constema- tion the moose plunged forward on bent knees staggered up, and again fell. The panther loosed its hold on the mangled neck and leapt lightly away. Dick sent two quick but futile shots mm k: ^t? 132 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS wMppii.L' into the underbrush after it. Then, seeing the sfjlendid bull struggling in the snow, he advanced a few paces, t* )ok steady aim and put it out i^^^ s.i.fering. Here was a fine bul moose to his ivi", l)'i he felt no satisfaction, f - it was the panth. r he hac: set his heart uptm. He knew that it wcu'i i.f. I vain thing to try to follow the panther; so 1 f set t work to do wliat he cotdd, single-h .nded, with the carcass of .he moose. It was a heavy jo-, and not one that he liked — a regular butcher's task, in fact. As he had not brought an axe he had only his heavy sheath- knife to work with. He was tailing away like a beaver, but had very little to show for his ■ xer- tion, when he suddenlv rfalize*; ihat the sun was unpleasantl>- close to the black ndges of the western hills. Leaving the cnrcass to take its chances with the f( .raiders of the mght, he turned and started back al ng the trail he had -nine. It was not a straight tiail. but it was sale He had no mind to attempt a short-cut to the in the failing light and unfamiliar country On arriving at the shack, Dick lost n about telliriL,' of his adventure to Sober Sam was (h-eply impressed " Dat painter ait his meat an' run when you red.? " he asked. ack, lime ■^am. TRA1*PERS LICK 133 "You may bet your hat on that," replied Dick. *' He not tnly ran but he kept ( . running. I sent two nrif re hots after him to let lim ki ow I was still busy. But I wish I had plugged him instead of the mt)Os ■ " " Dat T-ijrh\" c ]r ,he old mai., nodding his heat: " MooF^-n, .ti mighty good, if not too touph; bu ean h< .^r to kill dat ds i painter! An' 'U lothi' ' of dat o critter - dat UiK "N a s; plied ck. "Perhaps they A'ere itir., together and when the panther iiot " oard the moose the other was 'eft behind. \i\ T am glad I didn't meet hii -ffter the the ght got bad." hiess we want dat moose-mt ; -? ^d Sam, a JL 1 inute's reflection. " Need i. r moc- CL -ns, . o. Guess we get supper qi n' go c.ct him up an' tote home as much as we can. Hitch de rest up in tree, so fox can't get 'im. Lrtiess we do it, Dick, an' risk bad magic. You pretty brave feller, an' dat make me brave — an' 1 ^niess maybe dat laughin' b'ar long ways off." Right you are," replied Dick, with a quick and questioning glance at his companion. " I'm game for it, if you are ; and I am very glad to see M \i •s ■ 134 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS that you are feeling better about this magic busi- ness. But what is it, Sam, that has steadied your nerve? " " Guess dat magic ain't fust class, after all," replied Sam. " If it was, Dick, guess we'd not be cettin' here now, so a 'mighty comfor'ble." They ate their supper quickly and then set out. Though there was no moon, the sky was clear and the frosty stars filled the open spaces of the wilderness with a thin, uncertain light. They advanced swiftly along the track which Dick had made earlier in the day. Each carried his rifle uncased in his hand, and they did not exchange a word until they reached the outer trails of the moose-yard. Here they halted for a moment and Sam asked if they were anywhere near the carcass. " The centre of the yard is only a couple of hundred feet ahead," replied Dick, in a whisper, " and the dead bull is on the other side — not far, perhaps, but at the end of a confoundedly crooked trail." ^^ "Guess we better go 'round," said Sam. " Don't want to scar de moose what's left." They pressed forward slowly, breaking their way through new snow and twisted thickets, going as quietly as they could for fear of starting any TRAPPERS' luVCK 135 moose that might be resting in the middle of the yard. Sober Sam was in the lead, crawHng on all- fours in the imderbrush, and Dick was close upon the tails of his racquets, when something big and black suddenly heaved up in front of them, snorted, and then dashed away through the forest. Sam came to his feet with a gasp and stimibled back upon Dick. " By t'under! " he exclaimed. And then, steadying himself and chuckling shortly, " Dat moose, I guess. T'ought 'im somethin' else for one dnute." They moved on and in about fifteen minutes came to the carcass of the big bull. A fox had helped himself to a few bites, but it was quite evident that the panther had not returned to it. Under Sober Sam's leadership the head and hide v;ere soon off. They tied the head in the branches of a poplar, well out of the reach of any animal save a good climber. Then they cut the carcass into hunks and joints of convenient sizes and made two packs of as much of it as they could carry on their backs. They spent considerably more than an hour at this work. After a short rest they shouldered their loads and started for home. U- 1 1 136 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS Dick soon found that he had all he could do to keep the old trapper in sight, though the other carried the heavier pack. Sometimes, in the little natural clearings that dot the deeps of the forest like air-holes, he shortened the distance between them by breaking into a run. But Sam shuffled along at an unvarying pace, keeping a cautious lookout to the front and right and left, but never glancing back. As they came to the edge of the tiny clearing in front of the shack Sam halted suddenly and stood motionless. He could not see the window, but on the snow lay a yellow square of lantern light. Dick saw it, too. " Guess he t'ink we stay out all night," whis- pered Sam. Next moment the light on the snow vanished, the door opened and a black, bulky figure ap- peared, running across the open. In a second it was gone, and the two trappers stood gaping, with their rifles in their handi.. " WTiy you don't shoot.? " asked Sam. " Why didn't you.? " retorted Dick. CHAPTER XI THE THEFT OF THE PRECIOUS SKIN. SOBER SAM COMES TO GRIEF. THE KNIFE AND ITS OWNER ** It was the bear! The man who plays he's a bear! And he has fooled us again!" exclaimed Dick, in a voice of disgust. "Why you don't shoot quick?" cried Sam, again. '■ Don't talk like an ass," returned Dick. " You were in front, why didn't you shoot? Hang it all, Sam, we're both duffers." " Guess so," said Sam. " Guess we ain't spry 'nough for dat b'ar." They moved forward; and just ls Sam was about to enter the open door, out of the blackness within sprang a long grey shape. It passed them quick as a flash; they heard an angry, spitting snarl, but before a rifle was raised the thing had vanished in the woods. Then they both began pumping nickel-coated bullets into the darkness, wildly, blindly and furiously. Each fired six shots, quick as magazine and trigger could be 137 A '■- I < f ( i I 138 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS worked; then they faced each other in mute disgust. Sober Sam was the first to break the painful silence that had followed the crackling of the rifles. " We two darn fools," he cried. " We let 'em both go! Dick, you kick me an' me kick you." " We both deserve it," returned Dick, mourn- fully, "but I don't think kicking each other will do any good. It won't hurt the panther and his partner, anyway — and those are the things we want to hurt. Suppose we step in and see what damage they have done." They entered the shack and felt their way to the bench on which the lantern stood. The glass of the lantern was still warm. Sam raised it, struck a match and touched it to the wick. The yellow flame rose slowly, casting a dusky illu- mination around the interior of the shack. It displayed an untidy scene. Provisions were scattered about and the pelts lay here and there and everywhere on floor and bunks. The two trappers began to search anxiously to discover the amount of their loss. " Bacum's gone! — de very last of it!" ex- claimed Sam, " We have plenty of meat. The country is THEFT OF PRECIOUS SKIN 139 full of it," snapped Dick. " But count over the skins, we can't afford to lose our winter's work." " Floiu- a'right," said Sam. " But one packet tea gone, I guess. Yes, dat right! Dam his hide! " He ran to his bunk and felt beneath the blankets. " Baccy a'right," he cried joyfully. " He didn t find my baccy anyhow." " The devil take your baccy! " exclaimed Dick. " Look at the skins." Presently Dick asked in a low and shaking voice, " Do you see the black fox anjrwhere, Sam? " " De black fox," repeated Sam, with a huskiness in his torxe. " De black fox, Dick? Ain't he on the wall where I put 'im? No! Ain't he in de corner, wid dem other skins? " " Can't find it," returned the other, trying to speak unconcernedly, " can't find it anywhere. All the others seem to be here — but I can't find that black fox." They turned over all the pelts, great and small, dry, half-dry and green. They worked feverishly, in anxious silence. They pulled the blankets from the bunks and the spruce boughs from under the blankets. They searched among the provisions, and again went over all the furs. They counted the skins backward and forward, stacking them u «;t) 140 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS separately according to their several kinds. They found everything — everything but that precious black ski . that was worth more than aU the others put together. " It is gone! He has taken the black fox! " exclaimed Dick, bitterly. Sober Sam's emotions were such that his tongue could find no words for their expression. Uttering untranslatable grunts and snorts he dashed the unoffending peltries about the cabin. But that did no good. The skin of the black fox — the skin worth many dollars was gone! At last the two barred the door and retired to their bunks, vowing that they would strike hard and fearlessly on the morrow to regain their stolen property, no matter how strong the magic of the robbers might be. The last words spoken by the old tribesman were, " If you hadn't been so dam slow, wid yer rifle, Dick, we still have dat fox." Dick's reply was an angry snort. Then they both fell asleep. They awoke eariy, lit the fire and the lantern, and filled the tea kettle with water. Dick put the frying-pan to warm and cut several slices of moose meat. Sam took his axe from the comer and went out to cut some dry wood, for THEFT OF PRECIOUS SKIN 141 the supply in the shack was low. The first faint lights of dawn were showing in the east, and in the west and middle sky the stars were still glinttng. The air was bitterly cold — thirty degrees >v zero perhaps — but there was no wind. .:>( jr Sam pulled the door shut behind him with a bang (for the loss of the black fox was still rankhng in his heart), slipped his feet into the thongs of his snow-shoes and entered the wood at a point where several dead spruce trees, felled a few days before, lay prone in the snow. He was feeling so vicious about the theft that he began to slash the branches from the prostrate spruces with an air of wreaking his vengeance upon them. He slashed viciously, carelessly, the bright sharp blade severing a great bough from the trunk at every blow. Having cleared away all the branches that were in con- venient reach, he slipped his feet from his racquets and stepped up on to the trunk of a tree. Now he stopped and slashed downward, still with a full- arm swing for every stroke. Now he severed a branch on the right, and now on the left, and after every second blow he advanced a step along the prostrate trunk. He worked skilfully, though his mind was not on the task. He was still think- ing angrily of the theft of the black fox skin; so 142 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS ^ i m\ he did not handle the axe with the care that is usual with all experienced woodsmen. At last he shook himself clear, for a moment, of his sullen thoughts, and a glance showed him that he had knocked off enough of the smaller wood and must now apply his energy to the trunk of the tree. He was about to step down on to his waiting racquets and select another position from which to work, when the loss of the fox skin again came to his mind. He paused, standing on the great trunk, going over again and again a plan of unearthing the thief and recovering the valuable pelt. His eye selected a branch that might just as well be cut as not, standing out just below his feet; but his mind was otherwhere. He gave the axe a half- swing, holding it only with his right hand. It flashed downward, straight as falling-stone — but, when within a few inches of its mark, a spray of dry, unnoticed twigs turned the bright blade inward. Sober Sam let a sharp yelp out of him — and the bright warm blood sprang out on the brown tree trunk and dripped into the white sno^ The lower edge of the keen blade was imbedded r? the wood, Lhe upper edge in the outside of Sam's right foot, midway between the ankle and the THEFT OF PRECIOUS SKIN 143 little toe. With a twist of the wrist — and an equally violent twist of the mouth, the old trapper freed the axe from its hold. For a second or two he stood and gazed down at the blood-stained moccasin. Then, " Darn everythii^," he mut- tered, " Dam me for one a 'mighty fool! " Pull- ing off his blanket jacket he stooped and muffled the wounded foot in it. Then he limped along the trunk and sat down among the branches that still bristled about the top of it. " Dick ! Dick ! " he shouted, " turn out, I'm cut. Come quick and gimme a hand! " He kept up his shouting till Dick appeared on the scene. Fifteen minutes later Sober Sam lay in his bunk, the cut foot bound tightly with bandages made recklessly of two of Dick's shirts. No large artery had been severed, so this dressing kept the flow of blood under control. But the old man was helpless, as far as moving was concerned. The cut was a deep one, and under such treatment as Dick was able to administer it was difficult to say how long it might take to heal. Both the trappers were depressed by the accident, for here was a blow to their plan of tracking down the thief of the fox skin. Dick could not even set out on the hunt alone, for it would be days, at least, before 11 i II 144 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS Sam could put his foot to the ground or even let it swing unsupported. So they ate their break- fast in a heavy silence. After breakfast had been eaten, and the tin mugs and plates washed, Dick got ready to go out. He heapeu an armful of wood on the fire — the last of the supply in the shack. " Now I'll go and finish your job," he said. Sam's foot and leg were aching sharply, but he managed a twisted smile. " Don't finish in de way I done," he said, " we be in darn bad fix an' no mistake, if you get cut too." Dick worked slowly and with caution for about an hour, and not once in that time did he allow his mind to wander from the blrtde of his axe. When a supply for several days was cut and stored, some of it in the shack and some beside the door, he laid his axe away and took up his rifle. That action did not escape Sober Sam's quick brown eyes. " What you t'ink you do now, Dick? " he in- quired anxiously. "Oh, I am not going far," replied Dick. "I want to take a look round, that's all. I'll be back in an hour, Sam, so don't worry. You'll be right enough with your pipe and tobacco handy." i. THEFT OF PRECIOUS SKIN 145 •' Yougoin' on de b'ar's trail, I guess, an' leave me here all by my lonesome — an' may be not come back at all, if dat man-b'ar or dat painter gets you," said Sam mournfully. " Dat ain't right, Dick. Dat darn mean way for you to act." " I tell you, I won't go more than half a mile from the shack," replied Dick. " I just want to have a look at that fellow's tracks, and at the panther's too. I'll be back soon." " Well, you gimme my gun afore you go," said Sam. It was quite evident that he was again suffering from nerves. Dick followed the tracks that led from the door of the shack, — and for about half a mile they were the tracks of the hind feet of a big bear. From there they became the imprints of the round, solid snow-shoes that had caught his at- tention earlier in the winter; so no doubt re- mained in his mind that the robber of their first trap and tl ■ man who pretended to be a bear were one and the same individual. The man in the primitive snow-shoes had, beyonr! a doubt, been the guilty party in the robbery of Sober Sam's dead-fall, and had since amused himself by wearing the skin, head, paws and all, and .idA'\fiL'^ 146 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS striking terror into the heart of the old trapper. Beside the tracks of the round racquets ran the trail of the panther's pads; and the relationship of the man and the panther puzzled Dick. Could it be that tl.e big cat was a pet of the man's and trained by him to hunt for the common pot and to take part in the game of intimidation? The tracks led up the left hand shore of the lake, and Dick had followed for more than a mile before he suddenly remembered his promise to Sober Sam to be back soon. He turned reluctantly. Dick had not covered more than a hundred yards of the back trail when something in the snow just in front of him caught his eye. It was dark and narrow, and only two or three inches of it stood above the trampled white surface. He stooped and picked it up — and found it to be a long, straight knife, with a haft of heavy black wood that he did not know the name of. The blade was slender, and very sharp, and showed signs of having been ground many times. The name of the maker had been worn completely away. On the haft a design was cut which he could not make out at first; but, after cleaning it with snow, he saw that it was intended to rep- resent a ship. The design was roughly cut. On THEFT OF PRECIOUS SKI \ 147 the other side of the haft he found the t -ilowing inscription: — " J. Banks, T)osun." " A sailor." said Dick. *' Now I wonder if this thief in the bear's skin is an old sea-faring man? What would bring — or drive — a sailor into this couKi.y and set him at these tricks? " As he had no sheath for the knife and it was far too sharp to put in his pocket with safety, he continued on his homeward journey with it in his left hand. He was within a quarter of a mile of the shack when something — a sudden thrill of menace — caused him to glance quickly over his shoulder. And there, in the trail behind him and not more than a hundred yards away, he beheld a Xh-nv that, for a moment, filled him with unreason, n- j a it It was the thief - the subject of Sobe.- -;.i)i':: /ears and his own '<■. ^'e- cision and man> ct^.ijcctures — a figi'.rj nnir.ing wildly on uncouth round racquets, a ;_,.vaL bear skin flapping about it, the man's head uncovered and the empty mask of the bear flapping on its shoulder. The man's head — its head — was thatched with a mass of long, tangled grey hair, and the face was over-grown to the very eyes with tangled whiskers. It waved its arms as it ran — and the arms and hands were encased in the if I'l: !\^ 148 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS skin and paws of the bear. It ran fast and with no attempt at concealment. So wild and terrific did it look — leaping along, half man and half beast — that Dick sprang away, uttering a low cry. But the panic passed in a second and he halted and turned. The wild man in the flapping bear skin was close upon him now, crying, " My knife! My knife!" in a voice as harsh as the scream of a wild beast. Dick managed to stand steady, though his legs twinged to be gone. In the eyes of the strange creature approaching him he saw the light of madness. He flung the knife toward it, then raised his rifle to his shoulder. It uttered a chuck- ling laugh at sight of the knife flashing and turn- ing in the air ; and the instant the weapon touched the snow it snatched it up. n + %m A LOST CHANCE. CHAPTER XII DICK WORKS HARD. LYNX THE TWO The wild man — or whatever he was — re- covered his lost, knife and sprang into the under- brush. Dick shouted after him, feeling that now was the time to bring him to book in the matter of the stolen fox skin; but the time was already gone. He might as well have shouted to the wind to halt as to that mad and fleeing monster on the round snow-shoes. Should he have fired, he won- dered. No, he could not have done that, for the fellow was a human and had faced the rifle un- armed. Dick hesitated for a moment, then, without a thought for Sober Sam, and his promise of an early rettim, he forced a passage of the under- brush on the track of the owner of the knife. He was eager to get his hand on the fellow and come to an imderstanding concerning the skin of the black fox, no matter by what violent method. He was angry with himself, now, for having ai- 149 150 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS H II. I it i lowed his nerves to flinch and cause him to throw the knife. He shovdd have kept hold of the knife until its reckless owner was within his reach ; then he should have let it fall at his feet and sprung upon the other as he stooped to pick it up. Oh, yes! now that it was too late he could see quite clearly exactly what he should have done. Dick pressed along on the trail of the round snow-shoes as fast as the tangled forest permitted. In some places he was forced to plunge blindly through thickets of young, snow-weighted firs and spruces, with his left ami across his face to protect his eyes from the switching branches. In other places he found a clear path between the trunks of the tall umber. But, though he could not see his quarry, he felt that he was losing ground every minute; for the crashing of the other's flight through the bush grew fainter and fainter and at last died away entirely. After twenty minutes of this traly stern chase Dick halted, thoroughly winded. " It's no go. I missed my chance, " he muttered, after a few minutes spent in gasping and puffing. p[e turned in his tracks and started back along the way he had come at such a killing pace. Now he moved slowly ; and suddenly he saw that A LOST CHANCE 151 which caused him to keep a sharp lookout for the rest of his journey. Crossing the trail ran the track of the panther! This imwelcome discovery halted him; but the beast was nowhere in sight. Dick found Sober Sam awaiting him in a state of fretftd anxiety. " What kep' you so long? " asked the old man. " I t'ink maybe dat poacher get you, Dick, or de big painter jump on you — an' what happen to me den, I'd like to know." Dick laughed. "Oh, I am fit as a fiddle," he said, ** and ready to get dinner. But I must admit, Sam, that I quite forgot my promise to htury home. I saw some things that fairly drove it out of my mind." " What you see, Dick^ You see dat t'ief, maybe ? — an' try to catch 'im? " As Dick cooked the dinner he told Sam of the knife, of the design and the name on the haft of it, of the wild man's ap- pear ace and of the futile chase. Also, he told of the panther's tracks across the trail. " Why you don't shoot dat t'ief when he come runnin' fore you? " asked the old trapper, in tones of disgust. " You ought to plug 'im dat minute chock-f\ill of bullets - den we don't have no more trouble wid him at all." " But he is a man — and he hadn't any sort 152 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS ^i M l\H of weapon in his hand," expostulated Dick. " And he ran straight after me, without trying to hide, yelling for his knife." " You ought to give him de knife — smack be- tween de ribs. You ain't got much sense, Dick. You too dam a'mighty soft. He took our fox skin, worth hundreds an' hundreds of dollars, an' plenty good grub, an' he scare us both bad as he can to make us quit dis country — so you had ought to kill 'im, Dick. You won't get good chance like dat, any more maybe." " If I'd killed the poor mad devil — yes, I think he's all wrong in his brain — perhaps we should never be able to find the fox skin," replied Dick " No doubt he has it hidden in some tight little place where we'd not find it if we searched a year. The panther could not tell us where it was hidden, even if he wanted to. Anyway, I didn't shoot him or knife him, — and I'm mighty glad I didn't. If he had been trying to get a shot at me, or hifling in the bushes t<> jump out at me, I'd have let him have a bullet and welcome But he wasn't hiding and he wasn't armed. 1 believe that knife is tlie only weapon he possesses — and that is what he was after. He dropped it last night I suppost\ But I should have got hold of A LOST CHANCE 153 him and knocked him about a bit until he told me something about that fox skin and promised to leave our shack and otir traps alone in future. Yes, that is what I should have done." " Oh, yes! " retorted Sam, with a thin smile, " Dat's what you had ought to done, Dick, you bet. He let you knock 'im about, I guess, a'right, an' tell you what you ax 'im. But maybe not. Maybe he knock you instead. I dunno." " Would you have shot the poor, crazy, un- armed devil? " asked Dick, flushing vmder the old red-man's dry jeers. "You bet," returned the other, promptly — " 'less I happen to be too scart to get my gun up — like you was maybe. Yes, you bet I shoot dat mean t'ief. Am't he stole our grub an' our pelts an' our fin*' black fox skin? Ain't he scart me most outer my life? — and ain't he set his big painter aft^ . us? " " But I've read that it is one of the customs of your race, Sam, to protect crazy people and to put up with all manner of inconvenience from them without punishing them," said Dick. " Dat a'right," replied Sam. " You read heap line t'lr^s in btx^ks I guess. But how I know dat fellow crazy ? Who tell me — what ? He just 154 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS play crazy, I guess, so we won't hurt 'im. Well, I shoot him, anyhow — an' ax him after dat if he crazy or not." During the week following Sam's accident and Dick's adventure with the mysterious man in the bear's skin, nothing more was seen or heard of either the thief or his big, green-eyed partner. Sam's cut foot pained him sharply for many hours at a time, in spite of the complete rest which he took and of Dick's unfailing attentions. No doubt the bone was bruised. As for poor Dick, he had to do what he could toward attending to the traps as well as looking after his companion, the cooking and the fire- wood. Every day he worked from before dawn until many hours after dark; for, though he gradually reduced the number of his traps in commission by hanging them in the trees, his luck in taking fox, lynx and mink seemed to improve steadily. After a hard day in the open, capped with a hearty supper of moose-meat, boiled rice and tea, he would work with the skins until he fell asleep at the task. But this grind did not hurt him. His muscles grew and hardened, his chest expanded and his skill with snow-shoes, axe and knife increased amazingly. Sunday came and it was indeed a day of rest for ds-ii.-. A LOST CHANCE 155 Dick, for he had nothing to do but carry in a little wood and water, cook and attend to his companion. The two spent most of the day in talking — and most of the talk concerned the unknown thief and his partner the big panther. By this time, all fear of magic in connection with these two had left Sober Sam's mind. The case was decidedly unusual, he admitted, but did not smack of big medicine. A wild man of the wood strangely disguised in a stolen bear skin and wearing rotnd, hide-filled racquets, and a trained panther — and there it was in a nutshell. " Soon as I get round agin, we'll cook their dough for 'em," said Sam. But Dick had another thought in his mind — of which he said nothing. He saw no reason (or, at least, nothing but a coward's reason) for delaying the hunt for the thief until the healing of the old man's foot. The precious fox skin might be ruined by the time it was recovered, if they waited so long. Or the wild man might leave the country, taking the secret of his hiding-place and the priceless pelt along with him. He felt sure that the man was crazy ; and the actions of a crazy man are not to be depended upon, even in the northern wilder- ness. And Dick believed himself to be quite f'nna.l '-<. 156 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS to the task of dealing with that fur-clad idiot single-handed. The unknown one possessed no firearms. Of that he felt certain. And he was not afraid of the panther, either. In the case of that sly beast, he would keep his eyes about him and shoot at sight. In the case of the man, of course, he would not shoot unless he absolutely had to for the sake of his own life. It was Sober Sam's belief that the thief had his headquarters some- where on or near Wigwam Mountain, which tops the height of land between Two-Fox Pond and Smoky Pot with its round, rocky, shaggy cone. Dick was of the same opinion. Dick had the western line of traps to see to on Monday, so he decided to leave the expedition to Wigwam Mountain until Tuesday. He was astir early on Monday morning, lit the fire, got water from the hole in the lake (which always froze over to a thickness of two or three irches during the night, and had to be broken with an axe every morning), and cooked >>reak:ast. By this time — thanks to the thief — all their bacon and salt pork were gone. Their fiour and rice had dwindled to something very near the vanishing point ; but tea still held and fresh meat was to be had at any time. As soon as breakfast was ever A LOST CHANCE 157 Dick put a few slices of cold meat and a couple of cakes of " hard -tack " in his pocket, blew out the lantern, took his rifle from its corner and opened the door. " Mind de painter," said Sam. " If you get a shot at either of 'em, let 'em have it. But don't go lookin' for 'em." " Right you are," replied Dick. " I'm not looking for trouble to-day." He set out gaily, striking westward, forgetting that a man often finds what he is not looking for. At noon Dick halted and ate the cold fare from his pocket. In the traps already examined he had found one red fox and nothing more; but, as he had travelled slowly and spent much time in re- setting and altering the positions of the traps the line was not exhausted. He did not build a fire, but quenched his thirst with cold tea from a flask. The air was quite mild, considering the place and season of the year — that is, one could remove a mitten and leave the hand bare for several minutes without serious discomfort. The sky was grey instead of pale blue, and the small, colourless sun flooded the wilderness with a subdued radiance. The only sound that reached Dick's ears from all those surrounding miles and 158 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS 'i| in '1. miles of forest, barren, hill and valley was the sharp rattle of the hammering of a woodj ker on the stem of an ancit^nt 1 mlock. There was no sij,'n of animal life within range t)f his vision, though the spotless dnits and k-xels of the snow were marked here and there with the fine traceries of wood-mouse trails and the big, three-dotted tracks of the white hares. And there ran the trail of a hunting-fox, laid the night before — and there the broad padded signature of a lynx. Dick loved and knew that wild, snow-shrouded country by now, and the vast distances and silence ^ of it no longer weighed upon his spirits as at first. He rested for a few minutes after having finished his simple meal, and then got to his feet and went onward about his business. He glanced up at the sky as he crossed the little clearing in which he had lunched. "There'll be snow before night," he said. Dick moved quietly, in thick covers letting the branches between which he passed away noise- lessly back into place. He had no especial reason for doing so, but by now it had become as second- nature to him to make no more sound, when in the woods, than was absolutely necessary. Down in a narrow valley, beside a smal! snow-buried A LOST CHANCE 159 brook, he found a fine specimen of mink in a home-made trap of Sam's setting. He cleared this from the spiked jaw that held it, thrust it head- downward into one of the deep pockets of his blanket coat, unanchored the trap and reset it about fifty yards further up the stream. Then, making no more noise than a cat might have, he made his way up the steep bank on all fours. His head was just above the edge when he caught sight of something that halted him and held him motionless as wood. In front of him, and not more than twenty feet away, something was going on in the deep, soft snow that Dick could not make out for several seconds. In a soundless commo- tion and a fine spray of the frosty powder, two tawny, yellow-grey bodies were rolling over and over, gripped close. Then Dick saw that these were two lynx in deadly combat. They were fighting with fangs and claws, and at one moment one was on top and at the next moment the other. They held with fore-claws and teeth and did the pimishing work with their great hind legs, which were as strong as steel springs and shod with claws like short, keen knife-blades. The best position was the under one, for it gave plenty of chance to rip the belly of the enemy. It is not to be won- 'H ^^ MMk &.. MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 1.0 I.I 1.25 ■ 50 ™"== I. 2.5 III 2.2 [ 2.0 1.8 1.6 A ^IPPLIED IIVMGE Inc ST'- '6^3 East Mam Street S'^a Rochester. Ne* York U609 USA "-^ (?^6) 482 - 0300 - Phone S^ (716) 288 - 5989 - Fqk I- 160 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS dered at that the positions were continually changing. Patches of fur began to fly. Then Dick raised his rifle, for he did not like to see good pelts ruined. Two quick shots rang out — and the fight was ended in a way which neither of the combatants had expected. Ut Iff i n ^SMS^SfrTi^^:^_ CHAPTER XIII LOST. NIGHT IN THE SNOW - STORM. A GLIMPSE OF A SHADOWY BUT FAMILIAR FORM. A TIMELY BREAKFAST Dick had fired to kill ; and both lynx lay mo- tionless when he reached them. The furs were not damaged, save in a few spots on the under sides, so Dick stood his rifle against a tree and set to work with his knife. He was in the shelter of a wide spreading spruce, and it was not until both pelts were off and the two red, sinewy car- casses lay naked on the snow that he noticed that the grey sky had begun to shake down its white flakes. Still the air was quiet. The innumerable feathery flakes drifted down from the low grey sky, weaving pale curtains on every hand that hemmed in the vision as surely as mist or dark- ness. A soft, rustling whisper almost as faint as silence itself filled the air. Dick uttered an ex- clamation of concern at the sight and quickly made a pack of the two skins and snatched up his rifle. The snow must have been falling for ten 161 i I » (■ ^l! 11 if' 162 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS or fifteen minutes before he noticed it jc intent had he been on the work of skinning the lynx), for when he stepped out from the shelter of the big spruce he found the tracks of his racquets already almost obliterated. He fumbled through his outer pockets for his compass — then, with trembling hands, through the pockets of the woollen *' cardi- gan " that he wore under his blanket coat. He could not find the little brass compass anywhere. He had lei it in the shack. " It doesn't matter," he said, " I think I can find my way home without much trouble." But he looked far from confident as he stepped out on the faint trail. The snow continued to fall and the gloom to gather closer over the wilderness, and the young trapper had not retraced more than a hundred paces of the way before his old trail was entirely hidden. But he felt that he knew the di- rection to take and, trusting to that feeling, pressed onward. The crowding, unswerving flakes fell so thickly that he could not see further than a yard or two in front of him. After a half-hour of heavy tramping he came to the valley of a stream that was unfamiliar to him. He examined it carefully, groping about and seeking for some guiding landmark, and was forced to admit that ''I i. ^''^y^jm^msmMm^^^jmms^^m:mmym!^m LOST 163 he had gone astray from the right course. This stream, however, might be one of several streams that he knew; but even so, what did that possi- bility profit him? One fair-sized brook ran into Two-Fox Pond ; but he had not the faintest idea where the others that threaded the country ran to. A chill of apprehension — a twinge of fear of that vast, trackless, blinded wilderness — went over him like a sudden cold wind. '* Buck up," he exclaimed. " This is nothing to fret about, I'll be right enough when the snow holds up." He decided to keep to the stream, thinking that if he followed it down the chances of arriving at some familiar spot would be better than if he simply trailed blindly through the woods. He spent a good deal of time in deciding on the slope of the land — the direction in which the ice-bound, snow-buried waters were running. Still the snow fell thickly and the faint light gradually lessened. Dick tramped along the winding bed of the stream, pausing now and again to clear the cling- ing snow from his head and shoulders and brush it away from his face. In some places great trees overhung him, entirely blanketing what little light remained. In some places the slope of the w^^s^:^^^^^^^^,^^^' J- ■p w- ^^vl ■jn tM • i ! ' :X^ i.t '«' ilh: >f ■ > ■ i 164 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS valley was short and sharp, and he knew that he was passing over the fettered sinews of snarling water-falls. At last he came out on a level place, and the suggestion of width was all about him. Beyond a doubt it was a lake or pond ; but of its size he could ascertain nothing, for by now his vision carried no more than a yard or two. " It may be Two-Fox Pond," he rr uttered — " and again it may not. This country is full of ponds. I've done enough for to-day, however, so I'll just get back into the bush and make camp for the night. If the snow holds uy by morning I shall be right as wheat. But I wish I'd put a trifle more grub in my pockets before leaving the shack." Dick turned in his tracks, groped his way back to the mouth of the river, and climbed up the low bank into the timber. In the heart of a thicket he dug a trench in the soft snow, roofed one end of it with branches torn from the surrounding bush, and by good luck found several dead and iinder-dry shiabs close at hand. He started a fire with this dry stufT in one end of the trench, and by the red light he tore, and cut with his knife, a siipply of heavier wood. After this " spell " of hard work he felt hungrier than ever, '?!> m^^i^mm^rms'^^^^^^^^^.fms^^m^ LOST 165 and felt anxiously through all his pockets; but not so much as a crumb of food could he find. So, resigned to the discomfort of an empty stom- ach imtil the morrow, when daylight might enable him to shoot a hare or a ruffed grouse, he crawled under his poor shelter. In the yellow light of the fire the descending snow looked as white and al- most as substantial as a water-fall. Its multi- tudinous flakes hissed and vanished in the orange flames. Dick lay in his retreat, on a thin bed of spruce boughs, with his feet toward the fire and his rifle at his side. He was tired and his eyelids were heavy. Save for the vacant sensation luider his belt he felt comfortable enough and on fairly good terms with life. The fact that he was lost did not caus3 him much anxiety, for he felt sure that, when the snow ceased, he should be able to identify the ^.osition of the lake in front of him and, with the sun for a guide, make his way to Two-Fox Pond without much trouble. But he worried a little about Sober Sam, and hoped the old man would be able to feed himself during his absence. Dick was about to surrender himself to slumber when he espied two yellow-green, steady points i i i '\ >-mk.^f^: 1L'* }h ;3t [ill ' 166 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS of light beyond the fire, glowing from blackness above the far end of the trench. He had seen the same baleful signals before, across a former camp- fire, and he suspected that these belonged to the same bold haunter of the night. He raised his rifle cautiously, brought the sights in line a well as he could in that uncertain light and .out shifting his position, and pressed the trigger ; with the crack of the report sounded a quick, snarling yelp — and the glowing eyes vanished. He crawled from the shelter, and passed beyond the fire. The snow was torn at the edge of the trench ; and here were imprints of the big, familiar pads ; and here was a small dark stain — yes, a drop or two of blood — fast vanishing under the million fingers of the storm. Dick turned to his couch, placed more fuel on the fire, and managed to keep his eyes open for another hour. Then suddenly, without warning, he drifted into the land of dreams. The dull ache of cold awakened Dick just at the break of dawn. He sat up stiffly, to find the fire reduced to nothing but a few red coals in a winding sheet of grey ashes and feathery flakes, and the trench half tvH of snow. The air was bitterly cold, but still and clear. The storm had I LOST 367 ceased as noiselessly and windlessly is it had begun. Day was lifting a glass-grey lid behind the eastern forests, and in the west the last stars were glinting faintly. Dick's first concern was for the fire, so he speedily hustled some dry wood and re- kindled it. As soon as it was crackling cheerily he allowed his mind to dwell on the subject of breakfast. Oh for a plump grouse! — or even a sinewy hare! But both hare and grouse must be caught before eaten — and seen before caught. With a sigh Dick left the warmth of the trench and, with his racquets on his feet, and his rifle in his hand, scrambled up to the powdery levels of the snow. First of all, he descended into the white valley of the river and so out to the edge of the broad white shield of the lake. By a certain clump r , on the far side of it, and a level ridge c> ' ^.yond, as well as by the curves of the sho'-es, he recognized the lake as one lying about six miles to the westward of his furthest line of traps. He had visited it once with Sober Sam. He felt relieved to know that an oast- ward course would bring him, after a few hours of travelling, into familiar country. But still the problem of food remained unsolved. Not a sign of life was to be seen on the wide surface of the 168 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS ii I I lake or about the surrounding shores — or, for that matter, in the gradually brightening sky over- head. He returned to the wooded bank and broke his way through the underbrush. He moved with as little sovmd and disturbance of branches as possible, and had not gone far before he found fresh fox tracks cut deep in the snow. He foUowf d this trail, suspecting the fox, too, of looking for breakfast. Carefully as he moved, however, he failed to catch sight of the fox ; but he suddenly heard word of that sly beast's hunting. A rush and whir of wings in front told him that a grouse • had been flushed from its warm retreat under the new-fallen snow. He hurried forward, knowing enough of the habits of the northern ruffed grouse to feel pretty certain of finding the bird seated, spellbound by the sense of danger, in some tree close at hand. He saw marks in the snow showing where the fox had pounced and missed and from where the grouse had risen ; but both hunter and hunted had vanished. As he moved to the left, scanning the trees, two more birds puffed out of the snow close in front of his racquets and whirred into the nearest tree. The they sat with their necks stretched out and up, motionless as if carved from wood; and as he raised his rifle, he caught LOST 169 sight of the bird which the fox had flushed perched in the same tree. Dick was a good shot, and he stood not more than fifteen yards from the spruce in which the birds had taken refuge. He took careful aim at the head of the lowest bird, and fired. That grouse fell to the snow and the others continued to sit motionless. Now he fired at the head of the next higher, with the same result. His third shot carried away the head of the third and highest bird. Had he killed the top bird first, the crash- ing of its body among the branches above the others would have set them on the wing — and the bird that is frightened out of a tree usually iiies a long way before pitching or alighting, and if it pitches on the groimd it usually runs. Dick picked up the three birds and saw that he had taken the head clean off each. They were plump, for the wilderness was full, that winter, or seeds of all kinds. He examined the " snow- shoes " of the dead birds, for familiarity could not dull his interest in such things. The toes of grouse were outlined on both sides, with short yello / fringes that were m unlike the flat needles of the fir and spruce in shape. These made a snow-shoe, or racquet, of each foot, enabling the :^m:w. ''•n'^m^^ ^?^*3 t '■h Im-: 1 *> I I 11 170 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS birds to run upon the surface of soft snow. These yellow fringes, or whatever you choose to call them, grow upon the toes of the ruffed grouse every autumn, in time for the first snow, and drop off in the spring. Dick thrust the plump birds into his pockets and returned to the fire. There he drew^ and skinned one of them (skinning, birds is quicker than plucking them, and is the woods way), and soon had it broiling over a bed of coals. He made a good breakfast, took his bearings and struck out for Two-Fox Pond, with two grouse in his pockets and the lynx skins on his back. The sun came up in front, bright as fire and colourless as glass, flooding the pale dome of the sky with cold radiance and flashing a million glittering rays and stars of light from the world's winding-sheet. And with the rising of the sun a small, keen wind sprang up, that darted here and there and cut the dry snow like strokes from an unseen whip-lash. Dick fotmd the cold intense, and when it crossed his path in the open places of the forest it seemed to snatch the very brea^n from his nostrils. So he travelled as fast as the depth and lightness of the snow allowed, changed his rifle frequently from one hand to the other and contmually beat •^Vk^' LOST 171 the free arm across his breast. He kept to the heavy timber when he could, for in the shelter of the big trees the cold seemed less intense, and his eyes escaped the white glare of unshadowe-l sunlight on unshadowed snow. So heavy t ,s the going that an hour had passed from the f »€ of his leaving the fire before he reached the edge of that barren across which he and Sam had watched the timber-wolver >n the trail of the stag. He was tired and thirsty, and crouching in +he shelter of a dense thicket he rested for a little while and tried to quench his thirst with snow. But the snow did not give any real and lasting satisfaction, and made his tongue and throat feel raw and sore. Spurred on by thoughts of the warm shack and a steaming tea-kettle, he got to his feet and pressed forward. His eyes began to ache from the glare of the new snow, end so eager was he to reach home that he passed 'ho. spots where several of his traps were j withtmt taking the trouble to turn aside and examine them. He was in familiar country now, and struck for the shack by the shortest route. ■v., 'Jr. ■ I ■ ! i I u CHAPTER XIV DICK SETS OUT TO CATCH THE THIEF. HE FINDS THE TRAIL OF THE ROUND SNOW - SHOES. THE TRAILER TRAILED. THE ATTACK AND THE RESCUE Dick found Sober Sam in a bad temper and a terrible state of nerves ; also, the poor old fellow's foot was paining him severely, for he had been hopping about the shack getting food for himself. But it was anxiety for Dick, more than anything else, that had upset him. "I t'ink you gone for good!" he cried, by way of greeting. " T'ink dat painter get you, Dick. Wliat keep you, anyhow — an' leave me all alone with dis a'mighty bad foot? " " I am sorry," replied Dick, good-naturedly. " I lost myself in the storm, and made camp in the snow. Hadn't much luck with the traps, either. Got a fox — and here are the pelts of two lynx I shot — and here is a brace of partridges for dinner." Sober Sam's face cleared. " Dat not too bad," 172 TO CATCH THE THIEF 173 he admitted. " See any sign of dat poacher or dat dam painter? " •' Yes, I saw the painter. He came sneaking round my fire, and I took a shot at him. I drew blood, too." " You nick 'im an* not kill 'iui? Dat all-fired big pity, Dick. He hunt you now all de time, I guess. He try like 'ell now, to get sqxiare wid you. Yes, dat right, Dick. You needn't laugh." " Let him himt me as much as he wants to," replied Dick, courageously. He was drinking tea now, and felt equal to any adventure. " The more he hunts me, and the nearer he comes to me, the better I'll like it. Next time I take a shot at him I'll do more than bring a drop of blood. I want that panther skin — for a trophy, not for trade." " Dat a'right. Darn good talk, dat! I'm go hunt 'em both, an' get our black fox skin back, soon as my loot get well," returned Sam. Dick rested most of the afternoon, doing no work beyond cleaning and stretching the new skins. All his muscles ached, for he had caught cold in the trench, without blankets and with an insufficient fire. He retired early to his bunk, and awoke in the morning, feeling stiff and sore t- m M' p 174 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS all over. It was not until two days later that he felt himself to be in fit condition to go out on trail of the thief. He left the shack at an early hour, after ha\ing eaten a hearty breakfast, leaving the impression in Sam's mind that he was going to make the round of one of the lines of traps. He carried his compass this time, his rifle and a belt- axe, a small tin kettle, and a good store of hard- tack and cold meat in his pockets. The dawn gave promise of a fine day, but the still air was fairly tingling with frost. But the stiffness had left Dick's joints by this time, and with his fur cap pulled low across his forehead and about his ears, great fur-lined mittens on his hands, and body and Umbs clothed in many thicknesses of wool, he defied the cold. He went to the lake, where the surface was level and unobstructed and the snow beaten to a comparative firmness by the wind of the previous day, and shaped his course toward the great, lifeless swamp at its upper end and the gloomy cone of Wigwam Mountain beyond. He kept close to the timber of the western shore. Dick reached the upper end of the Two-Fox Pond after an uneventful half-hour, and at the very edge of the swamp he found what he was looking for — the trail of the round snow-shoes. TO CATCH THE THIEF 176 At the sight, his heart began to hammer with unusual speed and force — for this is an adven- ture of considerable magnitude that he has under- taken. He halted and gazed cautiously on all sides. He examined the tracks and lound that the maker of them had simply issued from the swamp upon the edge of the lake, faced about and re- entered the thickets. So he followed the return trail. It led him through the swamp by a twist- ing, aimless-seeming course, over all manner of drifted tangles and fallen trees and through switching thickets. He looked frequently to right and left, but found no accompanying panther tracks. Following the marks of the round rac- quets, he soon came to the higher lard and bigger timber which Sober Sam had once described to him. Here the trail could be followed with much less effort than in the swamp. It led, by many curves and twists, in places almost doubling on itself, toward Wigwam Mountain. " That's where he'll be found," said Dick. From this point Dick became so intent upon the trail and the direction in which its windings were leading him, that he forgot to keep a sharp lookout to the left and right and on the trees over- head. »l I ; •I w 176 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS When Dick stood on the margin of the lake, at the edge of the swamp, examining the tracks of the snow-shoes, he was being watched from the depth of the nearest thicket by a pair of pale, round eyes — the eyes of the big panther, and as he forced his way through the swamp, along the twisting trail, the panther moved beside him, not more than thirty feet away, slinking with its lean belly close to the snow and his round head upraised. Sometimes it crouched, remaining motionless until he had passed ten or twenty, ahead; and when it quickened its pace to keep up with him it limped slight 1 v. The bullet from his rifle, fired at the flaming eyes beyond the camp-fire, had nicked its left fore-paw. When Dick reached the high timber, where the trees and underbrush stood farther apart than in the fast- nesses of the swamp, the panther moved deeper into the woods, but continued to keep the young man in sight. At last the panther made a wide circle, past Dick, and drew near the trail of the round snow-shoes ahead of him. It lay quiet for a few seconds listening, then it sprang to the trunk of a great pine, clawed its way swiftly up and into the branches. Ore branch, lower and longer than the other, reached out over the trail. The inCK, IIKEI.I.ESS OF TllK lUNCKK THAT MSNACKD HIM, TRAMPED FORWAKH ALONG THE TUAII.." ^1^ m^ ft 11 U ', liyiii n I 1 ■ ■ w' f : |t,il' R ^lil TO CATCH THE THIEF 177 panther slipped out on this and lay crouched close, motionless as a part of the tree save for an occasional quick, eagei twitching of its mighty muscles and a savage trembling of its long tail. The hunting-lust, the blood-lust, bu.ned in its pale eyes. Its hind legs were drawn well under its sinewy body and its broad fore-paws clung to the branch, the sharp claws unsheathed and cutting the bark. And so it waited. Dick, heedless of the danger that menaced him, tramped forward along the trail of the mysteri- ous thief, eager to run him to earth and confront him. Here the white forest floor began to slope upward to meet the steep and rugged base of the mountain. " I may be coming up on him any time now," murmured Dick, glancing keenly to right and left. He saw no sign of the object of his search among the straight tree-trunks. He moved forward a few paces more, halted, and began to unfasten the blanket case of his rifle. On the overhanging branch of the great pine the panther cleared his claws noiselessly from the rough bark, flattened his short ears and looked down over one great forearm with red lust in his 178 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS round eyes. His tail slashed from side to side, his muscles twitched— and then he dropped. He struck Dick's shoulders and man and beast went down. Dick screamed, then struggled blindly. The claws of the panther ripped his stout clothing — marked the skin of his shoulders and back — struck again and cut the flesh in short deep furrows. Twice th'e eager jaws snapped down at his neck; and twice they were met by the muzzle of the rifle and thrust back, unsatisfied. Now one of the merciless hind feet tore him. Uttering a yell, he twisted on to his left side and began to fight furiously with his right arm and the encased rifle. He landed a half-arm blow across the panther's head that dazed it for a second — but only for a second. The fierce beast did not lose its hold for even a fraction of a second. Dick twisted and kicked and struck blindly, trying to get hold of his belt-axe with his left hand ; but he was already weakening with loss of blood and the pain of his wounds. His chances of surviving that fight were of the slightest when, with a word- less yell that set the woods ringing, a figure pai-tially wrapped in a flapping bear skin threw itself upon the panther. For a mad minute the three rolled together in the snow, kicking, claw- TO CATCH THE THIEF 179 ing, snarling, and shouting. Then a spinning blackness closed over Dick's vision. When Dick next opened his eyes he found him- self lying on a bed of spruce branches and skins in a low-roofed, gloomy place that was half cabin, half cave. Such light as there was entered by way of an irregular opening on a level with the clay, brush-strewn floor. A small fire of peat-like sub- stance burned smokily on a flat stone on one side of the apartment, and the little reek of it filled the air under the low roof. Shaken by sensations of alarm and amazement, Dick tried to raise him- self to an upright position; but sudden, sharp pains shot through his back, shoulders and legs, his head seemed to spin, and he sank back again. For several minutes he lay still, with his eyes closed and his heart fluttering. Again opening his eyes he studied the strange retreat to which he had been brought so mysteriously. Save for his own presence, the den was empty. A few skins, imperfectly cured, and a number of white bones lay about the floor — and at sight of those bones, by some swift association of ideas, Dick's mind cleared and a vision of the big panther re- turned to it. Now he remembered it all — every incident of the journey, the sudden clutching pi II vi N ' 111 !!! it':'' iili it 180 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS weight of the panther on his back, the furious hopeless fight and the providential rescue of the wild man himself. But how he had come to this primitive retreat he had not the faintest notion. Could it be that the mad thief had not only saved him from death at the claws and teeth of the panther, but had also carried him, unconscious, to this den and this rough couch, and dressed his wounds? So it seemed, at any rate, for by feeling up and around with his left hand he found that his back and shoulders were bandaged in strips of ancient blanket. " But why should he have saved me.? " reflected Dick. '• The panther is his partner, if I know anything at all about it, and I am a stranger. After scaring me, hunting me, and robbing me, what could have got into his >iead to take the trouble to save my life and knock the panther about? And it must have taken considerable doing, too, from what I know of that panther." His head and eyes ached, and his mouth felt dry and hot. Again his mind began to cloud, and all manner of absurd ideas came to him. Now he thought he was still struggling with the panther in the snow; and now the rescuer came, but in the person of Sober Sam instead of the wild man; V!fcW«Mr^ TO CATCH THE THIEF 181 and now he was lying in his own familiar bunk in the shack on Two-Fox Pond. His eyelids slipped down and he drifted into deep but uneasy slumber. When Dick awoke it was to behold his wild rescuer and host kneeling beside his couch. The sight was a truly daunting one, more especially to a man weak with wounds and just awakened from an unrefreshing sleep. The young man started violently and uttered a low cry. The strange creature beside him grinned a broad, wild but reassuring grin. His wild, pale grey eyes were fixed upon Dick's face; and, after the first start of dismay, Dick returned the gaze steadily. " That's one ye owe me, lad," said the wild man, in a husky, unused sort of voice. " One ye owe me," he repeated. "Aye, one ye owe me." He nodded his head after each word. Dick's fear turned to astonishment. So this wild creature that hunted with panther, dressed in uncured furs, robbed traps and provisions, travelled on snow-shoes of solid hide or bark and lived in a cave could talk! This seemed an as- tonishing thing to Dick. " Yes," said Dick, " I owe my Hfe to you." He was so busy examining the other's appearance '■ 182 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS that he could think of nothing else to say just then. His host no longer wore the great bear skin, but his inner garments were not much more elaborate. They consisted of an ill-shaped jacket, or shirt, of badly sewn and dressed fox skins, fur-side out, laced with strips of raw-hide from waist to chin. This garment looked as if it had never been taken off since it was first laboriously put on. His legs were encased in rough trousers made of mixed fox and lynx skins, the bottoms of which were thrust into the tops of shapeless, high-legged moccasins. The wild man's face was a flowing tangle of grey whiskers, and his head was thatched with a superabundance of grey hair. " I am thirsty," said Dick. The other lookt-d puzzled for a moment, and shook his head. Then, " Thirsty? " he repeated. "Thirsty? Don't know." " Dry," said Dick. The short word had an almost magical effect on the wild man. He arose from his squatting position beside the bed of branches and skins and stepped over to the fire on the flat stone. There hung a rusty kettle, and from it he poured something hot into a roughly carved cup of wood. This he brought to Dick, and it proved to be tea TO CATCH THE THIEF 183 of an exceedingly strong brew, Dick began to sip it slowly. The other watched him for a few mon.'^nts, with a puzzled, baffled expression in his e^ '}s. Suddenly he shot out his right arm and poked Dick in the middle with a claw like finger. " Belly? " he inquired hopefuUy. " Belly?" he repeated, more anxiously. Now it was Dick's turn to be puzzled — and he looked it. " Belly? — empty? " said the wild man. Light dawned upon Dick. " Yes, I am hungry," he said. " Hungry and sore and weak. Have you anything for me to eat? " In reply, the wild man turned and crawled out of the cave ; but he was back in a minute with a lump of raw, frozen meat in his hand. This he presented to Dick with a fine air of hospitality. Dick shook his head. "Cook?" he said, and pointed to the fire. " Yes — cook," said the other. " Cook. That's right, lad. Aye, that's right." T'i hunted about the floor of the ien until he found a long, sharp bone. One end of this he thrust into the lump of meat and, squatting close to the fire, he held the ragged, frost-bitten flesh to the flame. Mil tj M! ■ill CHAPTER XV A QUEER NURSE AND A QUEERER COMPANION. FRAGMENTS OF THE WILD MAN's PAST The scent of the scorching meat took away Dick's appetite; and by the time his host pre- sented it to him, charred on the surfaces and scarcely warm inside, he could only shake his aching head and turn away. " I don't feel hungry now," he said, " but I am still thirsty and my head aches horribly." " Fever," said the wild man. He felt Dick's hand and face with a big, gnarled hand the nails of whi-h were as long as the panther's claws. "Aye, lad, ye've got it — an' that comes of layin' off this here gold-coast all these months." " What? " eyclaimed Dick, feebly. " What do you mean by the gold-coast? What are you talking about? " " Don't know," replied the other, and tearing the scorched meat into several lumpy fragments with his fingers, he bolted them swiftly, one by 184 A QUEER NURSE 185 one. " Good," he miirmured, and wiped the back of his hand across his bewhiskered lips. Dick groaned, for weakness of fever brought on by loss of blood and fatigue was upon him. The light of interest returned to the wild man's eyes at that sound. " Aye, lad, ye be took, for sure," he said, " ye can take Joe Banks' word for that there. But I'll give 'e a swig o' yarb tea, seein's how doctor be dead himself, all along o' this here same fever." Dick was beyond questioning this strange speech ; and a minute later, when the wooden cup was held to his lips, he swallowed a half-pint of cold, bitter-sweet liquid without a word or motion of objection. He found it to be both refreshing and comforting; and, a minute later, he fell asleep. Dick slept for several hours. The wild man, who had mentioned his name as Joe Banks, remained by his couch for a few minutes, gazing into his face with a puzzled expression; then muttering a jumble of meaningless words, he clawed some spruce boughs and peltries together near the fire, lay down and resigned himself t(j sound slumber. Like the other silent-footed haunters of the wilderness, day was his time of I'» 'M m w r; m^ 186 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS rest and night his season of activity. Joe Banks had not been asleep for more than ten minutes when the low entrance to the den was darkened by the form of the big panther. The creature entered silently, with a cautious halting motion of its sinewy limbs and lean body, paused for a second just within the mouth of the den and glared around with its pale, luminous eyes. Its gaze shifted from the form o; its wild companion curled up beside the fire, to the form on the rough couch beyond. It advanced, limping slightly, silent as a tawny shadow, and again halted close to where Dick lay heedless and unprotected. Standing motionless, but with relaxed muscles, it stared at him fixedly for a full minute. At last it lowered its head and sniffed his left hand, which lay uncovered. Th-n it turned away, unearthed a bedraggled looking bone from a dark corner, carried this treasure close to the fire and lay down and began to gnaw it. The sound of the gnawing awaked the wild man. He sat up, glanced at the big cat, and then lay down again. When Dick awoke the den was dark save for the fitful light of the fire, which had been re- plenished only a few minutes before with dry peat and a few sticks of birch. Joe Banks was ■i A QUEER XURSE 187 gone, but by the yellow flames Dick saw the big panther lying outstretched with its round head on its paws. Remembering his last interview with the panther — he could not doubt for a moment that this was the same beast — he felt decidedly uncomfortable. Here he was, wounded and defenceless, with a cunning and ferocious mountain panther lying not three yards away. With his 1-ft hand he felt about his waist and hips for his belt-axe; but axe and belt were gone. He searched about the branches and skins of his bed with groping fingers, hoping to discover his axe or rifle, or something that might serve as a weapon in case of need. But nothing lay near at hand heavier than the wooden cup from which he had swallowed the herb tea before his last sleep. It stood beside the head of his couch, and as he lifted it with his left hand, possessed ot a vague idea that it would serve as a weapon against the panther, cool liquid splashed over his finger. So he brought the bowl to his lips, sniffed inquiringly and found it to be of the same brew as the previous dose, and drained it to the last drop. There were flavours of spruce, winter- green and many more forest properties about it, bitter and sweet on the tongue, and wonderfully 't c it /it 1 » f*' ■Ml Jli » II' '■;♦; 11 188 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS cool further down. So he drank with relish, for the moment forgetting the panther. In trying to return the cup to its place on the floor beside his bed, it sHpped from his fingers and fell with a clatter. At that, the panther raised its round head, and its round eyes met Dick's horrified gaze. So, for what seemed a long time to one of them at least, the man and the beast stared at each other without so much as the flicker of an eyelid. Then, suddenly, the big cat lowered his head to his paws again. A sigh of wonder and relief escaped Dick. For a long time both occupants of the den lay motionless and silent. Dick, who felt better for his sleep, was greatly puzzled by the panther's evident indifference to his presence. Also, he wondered at the wild man's absence, and hoped for his speedy return; for, though the big cat seemed peacefully inclined just now, he felt the smart and ache of his wounds and did not trust it. Lying there, with the smell of smoke, badly cured skins, mouldy bones and damp rock in his nostrils, and with one eye turned anxiously in the direction of his companion, his thoughts went longmgly back to Sober Sam and the dry, snug shack on the foot of Two-Fox Pond. He wondered A QUEER NURSE 189 how many horns or days had passed since the morning of his departure from the shack. A haze of weariness passed over his mind every now and then. He wondered how poor Sam, with his cut foot, was managing to take care of himself. He would have to leave his bimk and hop about to do his cooking — and as soon as the supply of wood in the shack was consumed he would be forced to take his axe and hobble into the bush for more. And what was the poor old fellow thinking about his absence? And now Dick's mind turned to the skin of the black fox, the cause of his present strange and undesirable position. He had seen nothing of it, so far, in the den. Perhaps it was somewhere close at hand, so ill-lighted was the cave by day as by night ; for that matter, it might even be among the skins upon which he lay. Forgetting the panther, he began to feel about beneath him with his left hand. From one part of the couch and another he drew out three pelts of moderate sizes, one of a beaver and the others of common foxes. He was about to search again when he was disturbed by the panther getting noiselessly to its feet. The panther approached Dick's bed, stalking slowly through the gloom of the den. Four t - Hi 1 •■ ! ' ■ - 'i' if' 11. ■ 12 ^ % 190 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS paces it advanced ; then it halted, and its round eyes shone h'ke yellow lamps from the shadowed block of its head. Dick lay frozen with horror, knowing his helplessness with only his empty left hand for lefence. But he gripped that hand into a fist, determined to put up a fight even against those hopeless odds. The great cat advanced another step and, instead of jumping forward, sank back quietly on its haunches. Still its pale eyes shone balefully. But Dick took heart at its attitude, for no member of the great cat family sits down to contemplate im- mediate mischief. So it sat for a long time, while Dick fairly held his breath with a dreadful anxiety. At last the panther yawned, then fell to licking the fur of his chest and fore-shoulders. Then he lay down, with his head not more than twenty inches from Dick's hand, and gave his attention to the cleaning and polishing of his paws. That job done to his satisfaction, he settled his chin on the floor and closed his eyes. For a little while Dick lay awake, thinking of this strange thing with wonder and thankfulness; but fever was working in him, along with the weakness caused by his wounds, and presently he, too, fell asleep. A QUEER NURSE 191 It was day when Dick again opened his eyes. A long, low shaft of sunlight streamed through the mouth of the den and gilded a path along the untidy floor. The fire on the fiat stone burned brightly with dry wood, and before it squatted Joe Banks, the wild man, broiling the red carcass of a freshly-skinned hare at the crackling flames. Beside him on the floor lay his notorious round, hide-filled racquets. Dick felt warm and com- fortable just then, and his mind wss in a happy state of vagueness that did away entirely with curiosity and anxiety. He lay quiet, watching his host at his crude cooking. He noticed, without much interest, that the panther was not in the den. He felt light-headed, warm, contented. He remembered Sober Sam as a friend of long ago, and the quest of the black fox skin not at all. He was vaguely, care-freely interested in the wild man and the broiling hare; but he felt no pangs of hunger. If there was anything for which he felt a desire at all just then, it was a cool drink. But he was not really thirsty. It was not worth the effort of asking. It did not matter. Nothing mattered. He really felt very comfortable and happy. The wild man looked up from the fire, when the ■ ' >> ! :fl It! , >l ' (■' ■- oil ' ' I'" t .1 ■ll 1 , <>'■ liL •' 1 ' 192 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS hare was scorched and smoked to his fancy, and seeing the invalid's eyes fixed upon him aros^ from his cramped position and went over to the bed. grmning broadly. He carried the frizzled blackened carcass of the rabbit on the end of a green-wood stick, and extended it toward Dick. "Ye'll find this here good eatin', lad," he said. " I am not himgry, thank you," replied Dick weakly. " But I'm dry. Give me another drink of that cold stuff, will you?" "Yarb tea," said the other. "Poor liquor, to my way o' thinking. But yer welcome to it,' lad — an' it be doctor's orders, too." He held the cup to Dick's lips. The lad drank eagerly, and felt better. " The doctor.? whom do you mean.? " he asked, awakened to a mild in- terest in life by the cooling draught. Doctor's dead," returned the wild man. "Aye, dead as that there bone." He scratched his chin under its thatch of whisker. "Aye dead." he repeated. " Fine gent too, was the doctor. Rum killed him -in a mamier o' speakin'." He shot a furtive glance at Dick. " Aye, ye may lay to that, lad. 'Twas the rum that done for him," A QUEER NURSE 193 But already Dick's mind was wandering from the subject. " Where's the panther? " he asked. " Oh, him! " returned Joe Banks. " Jerry you mean. He's standin' his watch on deck. Aye, that's it, lad. Him on deck an' me below." Dick's eyelids were sliding down and his wits were drifting away, wool-gathering in the lan- guorous realms of fever-dreams. " You talk queerly," he said drowsily. " You talk as if you were not quite right in the head. But I don't mind. I — I think I'll take another nap, if you have no objection." " Not right in the head! " exclaimed Joe Banks indignantly. " Not right in the head, d'ye say? Me, Joe Banks, bosun, not right aloft! well, that do beat all. Just what doctor said, too, more nor once. But he died o' the rum — in a manner o' speakin'. Aye, jest in a manner o' speakin'. Twasn't him took the rum, ye'U understand. I'm the lad took the rum — an' that's what done for the doctor. Rare fine slush-artist he was, too. Great hand at the duffs he was — an' middlin' at a stew. But 'twas the rum killed him. Aye, 'twas the rum — in a manner o' speakin'." He stopped his talk suddenly and looked i':[ If ■; 'i^ ■ 194 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS sharply and suspiciously at Dick. But Dick was sound asleep. The wild man returned to his place by the fire and ate the hare with a fine show of teeth and every evidence of a healthy appetite. That done, he placed more peat and wood on the fire, picked his teeth with the long knife that Dick had once found in the snow and had so so soon returned to Lim, and fell to mumbling and muttering. He looked more like a wild beast than a man with a name, crouched there with his tangled locks hanging about his face and shoulders, his matted beard and whiskers like the coat of a mountain sheep on his breast, and his great brown fingers scarred and hooked like claws. His keen grey eyes darted restlessly from side to side, and he mumbled stra. ,e words and the names of strange, far places that seemed to have nothing in common with the dea in the frozen wilderness. While he squatted and gabbled the panther entered, devoured such bones of the hare as lay discarded on the floor, licked his great chops and slunk out again. An hour passed. Joe Banks brewed himself a kettlefuU of the tea that he had stolen from the shack. Next, he set some herbs in the fire to steep, so that drink should be ready for Dick on '"••■ T. T-g A QUEER NURSE 195 his awakening. From a crack between two of the logs of which the extension of the cave was built, he produced a very black and very short clay pipe. This he filled with tobacco, shaving it lovingly from a mahogany-coloured plug which Sober Sam would have recognized had he been there to see. Having smoked the pipe to the last gurgling puff, he hid it away, placed fresh fuel on the fire and went to sleep. Both Dick and the wild man were awakened about an hour later by the entrance of the panther. The big cat carried something limp and furry in its mouth — and attached to the thing in its mouth was a heavy article that banged and clattered along the floor of the den. The panther dropped his prize in front of the fire and sat down on his haunches. Joe Banks took the limp thing up in his hands — it proved to be a dead fox of the common yellowish red variety — and, calling both hands and feet into play, freed it from the trap and chain. Dick's mind, which was fairly clear at the moment, saw in this the secret of the mystery of the vanished traps. When the panther wanted an animal that hap- pened to be caught fast in a trap he simply exerted '. "s great muscles and took away trap It »r i i 196 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS and all. It was not according to the laws of towns or the laws of the wilderness — from a trapper's point of view — but it was very simple and natural. CHAPTER XVI THE FEVER GRIPS DICK HARD. TROUBLES THE WILD man's while Dick The wild man skinned the f( the panther looked on. Then he tossed the skin into a comer and, producing Dick's belt axe, cut the head and legs off the carcass and tossed them to the expectant panther. " Mind what you are about," said Dick. " You'll spoil the edge of that axe." Joe Banks sprang into the air and gave vent to a startled yell ; but the panther fell to on the tasty morsels that had been thrown to him, crunching away without so much as a glance at Dick or the perturbed Joseph. "Ye be too middent in yer talk, lad! " ex- claimed the wild man. " Ye set my narves all of a jig. Sounded jest like my old mate the doctor, you did — an' him dead, mind ye. Rare hand at talkin', he was — an' likewise at duffs and stews. Not a real doctor, ye understand, but a first-chop deep-sea cook." i»7 I M I I I f i If I (I tl li 'i f% ri«--^^B| ^t ) jH 1'' 198 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS "Where is he now? — and what ship did he belong to? " asked Dick. "The doctor? Aye, ye may ask, lad — an' keep on askin'," returned the other, with a crafty smile and sidelong glance. " Ye'd like to know all about him, wouldn't ye — and about me too. But ye '11 have to sail a long v'yage afore ye catch Joe Banks a-nappin'. Not there's anything about me I wouldn't tell to a bishop, mind ye. I'm white, I am, an' ye may lay to that. I've bin a bit rough in my time, maybe, what with rum an' shore-leave and maybe a touch o' sam, but ever since I come shore off the old Sea Robin an' let go my hooks in these here soundin's I've lived straighter an' more peaceable nor some maiden ladies." Dick's attention was slipping, for he was a very ill man. " I can't quite follow you," he said. " You gabble along like some book I've read — and I don't understand what you are doing up here in the woods. Thought you couldn't talk at all when I first knew you. But I don't want to hear you talk, just now. What I want is a drink — a long drink — a cold drink." " Aye, ye want a drink. Doctor was ever- lastingly wantin' a drink," babbled the wild man, THE FEVER GRIPS DICK 199 smiling foolishly and v/agging his untidy head. " Board o' trade lime juice, v "ffeiied with a dash o' rum was his fancy. Ncic o' yer lea -um, mind 'e, but brown Barbadoes rum, mild as milk an' as smooth as — as his own tongue. .\n' that same was my fancy, too; but 'twas rum an' a dash o' the lime juice with me. An' 'twas the rum done for doctor, sure's yer name be Peter Finch." " But my name is not Peter Finch," returned Dick, wearily. " Give me a drink of herb tea, will you? And I wish you'd stop talking for a while." " Aye, 'tis a wonder how all the words have come back to me, since I found ye on the land- wash, lad," said Joe. " If I was to tell ye how long it is since last I talked to a real live human — an' that was the doctor — ye'd call me a liar, like as not. 'Twas so long ago I don't know when it was." " Give me a drink," cried Dick. The babbler got to his feet, took the brew from the fire and carried it outside the den, where he set the old kettle in a mow-bank to cool. The panther followed him. Joe turned and gazed reflectively at the beast. " Bill," he said, " I'm sick o' this here port, an' why you and me don't ^ *M 1; t. . ^f >H n-' \ :i Hr:i; 200 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS ship for some other clime is more'n I can say. Sometimes I know why we don't, an' sometimes I don't know. This be one o' the times I kin honestly say as how I don't know. My mind ain't what it was, Bill, when I sailed bosun in the Old Sea Robin. There was the doctor, now. Him an' me left the ship together. Aye, that's clear as A B C makes four. An' we brought something away with us. Now what was that, Bill? An' whatever it was, where is it now.? An' where is the doctor, when it comes to that.? I have it in my mind, Bill, now an' then, that I done somethin' to the doctor with a knife — which o' course wasn't right nor accordin' to regulations." At this point of the one-sided conversation the panther turned and re-entered the den. The wild man gazed after him, scratched his head, then picked up the kettle of herb-tea and fol- lowed him. He poured som^j of the liquor in the wooden bowl and held it to Dick's eager and feverish lips. After draining the bcm^l Dick again drifted off into a hoavy but uneasy sleep. Dick tossed and turned on his rough couch, in the grip of a fever that had been breeding in his blood for days, the first seeds of which had been THE FEVER GRIPS DICK 201 sown by exposxire and fatigue. It had been brought to a head by the struggle with the panther and by the v»ounds which the great beast had inflicted. Joe Banks watched beside him, giving him drink whenever he asked for it, and the panther hunted along the lines of the neglected traps. Dick talked sometimes, wildly, incoherently, and called his queer-looking nurse by many names. For a little while in the early mornings, Dick was rational though weak; but for five afternoons and nights his body was shaken by the fever and his mind went wandering. During all that time he ate nothing, but drank large quantities of herb tea. It was this tonic, cooling drink that saved his hfe, beyond a doubt. Sometimes, while he tossed and babbled, the panther lay beside his couch and the wild man hunted for food across the frosty wilderness out- side the den; but at night it was always Joe Banks who kept watch. And sometimes Joe talked to those unheeding ears of the doctor; and of rum and ships and harbours with fine, foreign- sounding names; and sometimes he spoke of the doctor's death, uncertainly, wonderingly, as if he had no very clear idea as to how it had hap- pened; and sometimes he laughed at his own w I' I' • alii . .1., n if^ii:^ !r « ■ ■ ; ' is (i i :: Mi ? MmiflSr m i anii-i i ^ hi' ' 1 ! '' ~--. 202 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS thoughts, and tried to sing deep-sea chanties and love-lorn ditties. But there were times — brief and infrequent — when the crazy light went out of his eyes and his endless, senseless babbling ceased. At such times an expression of horror and suffering came to his face. At such times his brain cleared and he remembered — remembered many things of many lands and seas, and years of suffering and loneliness in this frozen wilderness — but, most vividly and terribly of all, he re- membered the death of his old si ip-mate, whom he called the doctor. At such times he would pace the clay floor of that gloomy, untidy den, his great hands clinched, his great frame shaken by agonies of remorse and despair. Then he realized that he was an outcast, a murderer, a man lost to the knowledge of his kind, living in a den like a beast, seeking and eating his food like a beast, and with no companionship save that of a beast. And so, in a little while, his return to sanity would drive him back to babbling care-free madness. Even during Joe Banks' hours of sanity much of his recent life remained blank to him. This was the case in the matter of Dick Ramsey's presence in the den. Sane, he knew nothing of THE FEVER GRIPS DICK 203 how the young man had come there; crazy, he knew that the panther was at the bottom of the stranger's troubles and that he, Joe Banks, had beaten the panther off and carried the wounded lad to the den. WTien in his usual state of mind — which was that of insanity — he not only knew something of Dick but knew of the shack on Two-Fox Pond and of Sober Sam as well. These things stood clear in his mind, hemmed about by mists and shadows. The memories of his life in the -wilderness were mere fragments; but, during his brief seasons of saneness, his more distant past came clearly to his mind; but at these times all that he could recall of the more immediate past were such impressions as he had caught during his moments of sanity. Joe Banks had sailed on many vessels, of divers sizes and models, to many parts of the world. He had made several voyages as boatswain of a barque named the Sea Robin — but this had not been the last vessel in which he had sailed, though the last to carry him under his real name. After years of honest seafaring, Joe fell suddenly to criminal courses. He was boatswain of the Sea Robin at the time, and the craft fellow known to his associates as the "doctor" was cook, II' f .3': \i m ( . :'i I V r HI'!. 204 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS aboard the same stout craft. Dick was an old hand aboard the barque, however, and the cook was new. But the cook had sharpened his wits in the low quarters of many cities, and under many names, and cooking for the captain, mate and crew of the Sea Robin was only a part of one of his evil games. The barque, after a good passage from Nova Scotia, was nearing a certain hot and steaming port of Brazil, when the so-called doctor made known part of his game -just a little artistic fragment of it - to the boatswain. But by that time he knew the other's nature pretty thoroughly - and knew it to be weak as fore- castle lime-juice. He told Joe Banks that the captain was carrying an extra dispatch-box this trip, and that this box contained four pearls of great value, the property of a once-great Spanish family resident near the city of Pemambuco. He knew a good deal of the history of the pearls, and so made a very interesting story of it. The Brazilian family had been hard pressed for money a few years back, had borrowed heavily from a Halifax merchant and had given the pearls into his keeping for security. Lately th^y had done well with their colTee and sugar plantations, and had been able to give the northern merchant part THE FEVER GRIPS DICK 205 of his money back and security for the balance of a less personal nature than the four pearls. And the pearls were now in the cabin of the Sea Robin, in a disp^'tch-box that was Captain Mann's especial care, on their way home to the once mighty family of Spanish extraction. When Joe Banks asked his friend the cook how he came to possess so much information on the subject, that mysterious gentleman simply winked one of his sly eyes and replied that it was his business to know. There were two dispatch-boxes, strongly made and strongly locked in the Sea Robin's inner cabin. One of these, of course (the old battered one, beyond a doubt), contained the ship's papers and a small canvas bag of sovereigns — just the every-day contents of every vessel's dispatch-box. The other box (equally of course) contained the four wonderful pearls. So it hap- pened that the boatswain and the cook took shore-leave and French-leave at one and the same time. It was Joe who made the actual theft, the while the artful cook stood by to give warning, with one eye on the mate beside the main- mast and the other down the sky- light watched the captain asleep in his bed. Then the cwo went ^ fe.-.# 206 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS Ov-er the rail like shadows and ran up the wharf on noiseless feet. In the black, narrow street between two big warehouses the doctor (for let us call him by Joe's favourite name for him) possessed himself of the precious box. At the same moment of getting that article fairly under his left arm he turned and darted along the unlighted street. The big boatswain suspected nothing ; but a passion for the box had grown in his heart. After a short, sharp run tne doctor slowed to a walk. " No call fer ye to walk right up on the back of my neck," said he. " When yer tired, doctor, I'll take a hand with the box," said Joe. "Ain't tired, not a mite," retorted the other. In silence they passed along many black and evil-smelling streets. The doctor's left elbow, under which was the small box, touched the boatswain's right elbow; and in that touch a shock passed to the latter's mind and spirit. He dropped back swiftly — a step tc the rear and a step to the side — obeying the unreassuring shock. And as he stepped, the blade of a knife cut his shirt and just turned the skin on his shoulder. Amazed, afire with righteous indig- THE FEVER GRIPS DICK 207 nation, Joe replied to this incivility by hurling himself upon bis companion, blindly, furiously and silently in the dark. They fell heavily upon the cobbles of the street, the doctor and the box underneath. The knife clattered harmlessly on the stones. The doctor struggled desperately for a few seconds, doing his best to connect one of his hard knees with the pit of his friend's stomach; but the boatswain got a grip on the wind-pipe with one of his big hands. " Mer — cy ! " gasped the doctor. Joe relaxed his grip. " Ye tried to knife me, ye dirty sneak! " he cried. " Keep quiet," replied the other. " You'll have the people awake — an' the police after us. Ease your holt a bit, bosun, an' I'll tell you how it was." Joe Banks' amazinj, ;ood nature (when sober) and credulity were large parts of his general weakness. He loosened the grip of his fingers still more. " What ye got to say? " he asked. " Well," replied the other, slowly and in a thin whisper, " I didn't try to knife you, Joe. Fact ! I — I was just shiftin' my knife across to my other side — an' when you jumped i i 208 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS you give me such a start my hand kinder flew out." The boatswain, kneeling astride his fellow- thief, gave this amazing statement his most deliberate attention. L'M iiii i M CHAPTER XVII THE WILD man's PAST ADVENTURES CONTINUED. THE doctor's depravity. THE EMPTY BOX " I don't like it, ye may lay to that, doctor," said the boatswain, at last. " Looked to me like ye was try in' to stick me. Queer way for to treat >'er mate, doctor — him as took the risk to get the box from under the skipper's nose." " Honest, Joe, it was an accident," returned the other. '* Let me up, mate, for heaven's sake. Folk'll be findin' us here, if you don't — an' maybe the cap'n has spotted the loss of the box already." "Just a moment," said the boatswain. " Where're we bound for? " " The country," replied the doctor. " We want to get clear of this town just as quick as we know how. Then we'll take out the pearls an' chuck the box away. We'll hang around a bit out of sight, an' after a while ship for Noo Yo'k, under nom de plumes.^* 306 ! I ,..j. i? 210 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS " Tender who, doctor? " inquired Joe Banks, suspiciously, "Under names that ain't our own names. Under alleyasses." " Right O! mate. WeU. git up onto yer pins — but don't try shiftin' yer knife agin when I be along-side ye." He removed his weight from the prostrate doctor, and that gentleman immediately scrambled to his feet. "I feel dazed," he said. "You slammed me down terrible hard, bosun, an' knocked my knife galley-west. Will you take a look round for it while I shake my wits together a bit?" " No, doctor, can't say as how I will," returned Joe. " Far as I kin see, yer a heap safer man to travel with as ye are. Th.it there accident kinder shook my nerve." "You don't trust me, Joe," said the other mourr . ly. " As far as I can see ye, doctor," replied Joe, cheerfully. " But on a night like this I can't see ye at all." So they continued their interrupted journey; but now the boatswain walked behind his friend! Twice, before they got out of the sleeping city, PAST ADVENTURES 211 the doctor (who still carried the box) made a swift forward movement; and twice the boat- swain's big hand flew out and gripped the back of his jacket. " Tryin* to bolt an' leave me? " asked Joe, after the second time this thing had happened. 'I stumbled," replied the doctor. "An' no wonder, with you right on my heels." Soon they felt dust under their feet ; and black, overhanging ;loom ot walls and houses ■ both sides of their path gave away to the paler « .: ;•' : ess of the sky. The two walked in silence, each busy with his own thoughts. The cook's were alto- gether selfish and vicious. He hated the boat- swain — the simple mariner whom he had in- tended to use and then leave bleeding in the gutter. The tool had turned in his hand. So he hated him — yes, and feared him. His ribs and the back of his head were still sore from his recent fall. As he shuffled along through the hot, black night, he planned his companion's undoing. He made a dozen plans; and all seemed admirable. Any one of them could be easily carried out when the boatswain was asleep. In the meantime he trudged along, carrying the box gripped tightly imder his arm. \ r I - ■ I 1; 'M -i • bi l^-'l ( ! MS 212 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS Joe Banks was in a gloomier frame of mind than his companion. He mistrusted the man in front — after all, he was a comparative stranger — and regretted the mess-mates whom he had left behind aboard the old Sea Robin. Remorse stirred in him for the evil thing he had done. He had sailed two voyages with Captain Mann, and had always been treated fairly by that up- standing downright seaman. No doubt the captain would get into a peck of trouble over the loss of the pearls. As he shuffled along on the heels of the doctor, putting out an inquiring hand now and then to make sure that the slipper master of duffs and stews was still within reach, distrust warmed to dislike. He remembered the other's eyes — and his gorge rose at the picture. How had he ever been fool enough to throw in his lot with a man with such shifty eyes.? And how much were the pearls worth, anyway? Enough to make the risk taken worth while? " Look'e here, mate, let me carry that there box for a spell," he said, suddenly, distrust very evi- dent in his voice. The doctor halted. " Hey — what? " he whis- pered. " Let me handle the box awhile." r PAST ADVENTURES 213 "Oh, I ain't tired." " Maybe not; but I'll just try the heft of it for a mile or so. The thing's mine as much as yours, I reckon. Hand 'er over! " Joe Banks possessed himself of the precious box; and if he had followed the doctor like a shadow, step for step on his very heels, a little while before, it might be said that the doctor now followed him as a barnacle follows the bottom of a ship — as a man's scalp follows his head. He not only stubbed his toes against the boatswain's heels, but he fairly leaned his chest against the leader's back, and his hands hovered in the black- ness on either side. " Doctor," said Joe, " ye've got altogether too lovin' all of a suddent. Get off my back, for mercy's sake! " " I ain't on your back," returned the other. " But I guess I have as good a right to keep close to you as you had to stick to me." " An' safer for ye, too," retorted the boat- swain. " I don't slash at my mates with a knife." " You're a liar! " critd the doctor. Joe turned swiftly and clutched him with one mighty hand. J II :i 4 I? 214 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS " Oh, let go! " cried the doctor. " Don't be a fool, Joe! What's the good of you an' me falling out? " Joe Banks turned, with a grunt, and the journey was resumed. Dawn found the two in a land of narrow roads between vine-hung jungles. They passed two brown men leading mules loaded with sacks of sugar. They passed a cluster of low mud-and- wattle huts, and a hundred yards further on they came upon the clearings, bungalow, offices and boiling-house of a large sugar estate. They passed the open fields of canes, casava and coffee with quick and furtive steps and were soon be- tween the green walls of the jtmgle again. " Breakfast time," said Joe. They sat down at the edge of the trail, with the box between them, and drew food from their pockets. "I'm dry," said Joe, after he had dispatched a hearty meal of cold victuals of the doctor's own cooking. " An* like to go dry 'til we get to the next nigger hut," returned the doctor, " f or I ain't got so much as a drop of liquor on me. Forgot all about it in the rush." mam PAST ADVENTURES 215 " Then let's have a look at the pearls," said the boatswain. " Oh, the pearls will keep. They're safe enough where they are." " No, not on yer life. We want to look at 'em — an' we want to get rid o' that there box. Open up, doctor, an' then we kin each of us carry two o' the pearls." " What's yer rush? I tell you, the pearls are all right where they are. What do you want to see 'em for, Joe? We'll lug 'em along the way they are until we come to a river, and then we'll open up an' chuck the box into the river. Now we'd better hustle along or the police will be after us." They continued their journey, the doctor carrying the box. " All the niggers in the country '11 remember seein' with that box Hinder yer flipper," gru. > the boatswain; but the doctor was undi " 'cd. Soon they came to a hut close beside the trail, hemmed around on three sides by the green jungle. The door stood open upon a clay floor and dusky interior. " We'll get a drink here," said the doctor. He stepped to the doorway and looked inside. The .ill U li. fi* 216 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS place was empty. He noticed a small, low window in the back wall. " Don't see any of the folks," he said, grinning at his companion over his shoulder, " but I do see a cool lookin' clay jug on the table. Guess I'll just step inside and borrow it." " An' don't guzzle the whole of it, mind ye," said Joe, leaning wearily against the mud wall and feeling about in his pockets for pipe and tobacco. The doctor ste'jped into the dusky interior < >f the hut and mo-" ed with loudly stamp- ing feet across the floor. The round-bellied bottle of clay contained water. He raised it to his lips, gulped greedily, tinkled an empty bowl against the side of it. Then, ceasing his noise quick as thought, he slipped over to the window, pushed the box through and let it drop to the ground, and hoisted himself to the sill. The boatswain had his pipe in his hand, and was just cornering his plug of tobacco in , deep pocket of his canvas trousers when a sudden, swift sus- picion flashed through him. Dropping the pipe, he sprang for the door and into the cabin. The doctor was half-way through the window, wrig- gling outward and downward in desperate haste. Only his feet remained on the sill, and his hands Rj3^'rc>^^ PAST ADVENTURES 217 were on the ground, when the boatswain clutched him by the ankles. With one mighty yank he was brought back into the room, ciirsing and struggling; but *ie struck the clay floor with a force that silenced him. Joe stared down at the limp figure for a second or two, breathing hard, his grey eyes glinting with anger ; then he stepped over to the window, reached out and recovered the box. " Lay where ye be, ye skunk," he said. He drank thirstily from the water-bottle and then, with the box under his arm, walked out of the hut and continued his journey up the narrow bridle-path. When the sun was directly overhead he entered a grove of mahogany trees, found a comfortable spot to rest in that was hidden from the road, ate what was left of the food in his pockets and smoked a meditative pipe. V*hile he smoked his gaze rested on the small, metal box. " The doctor's a dirty hound," he muttered. "Tried to knife me, he did — an' then tried to sneak away with these here pearls. Hope he got such a bang on his head he'll never see agin." Then, finding two large stones, he placed the box upon one of them and beat open the lid with the other. Inside the bo., lay — nothing! I J' it'!? E ' N< fc f -. rf ii! 218 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS It was empty as the day it had left the factory when it was made. Empty! No pearls! And yet a theft committed, a good ship deserted, and an honest life ruined. For a long time the boatswain knelt under the mahogany trees and stared into the black, clean interior of the box, his lower jaw sagging and his eyes protruding in horrified incredulity. At last he sprang to his feet with a snarling cry, leaving the box on the ground, left the grove at a brisk trot and headed back along the way he had come. " The sly devil! " he muttered as he ran. " The dirty hound! He had a key all the time — an' he slipped it open an* took *em out. No wonder he didn't want me to look at 'em ! No wonder he wouldn't open the box for me to see! " And now to return to the so-called doctor, the pretended sea-cook. Within a few minutes of the time of the boatswain's departure from the hut a brown woman, scantily clotlied in soiled white, entered it and, seeing a stranger, white and foreign, sprawled senseless on the floor, turned about and made her exit at top speed. But she returned in a few minutes, accompanied by a brown man who smoked a brown cigarette. Just as they entered the hut the figure on the floor M§. i PAST ADVENTURES 219 began to move its sprawling legs, turn its head a little, from side to side, and moan. Sorely puzzled, the owners of the hut examined the stranger (gingerly, at first), and deciding that he was not dangerous lifted him from the floor, bathed his face and head with water and then held a bowl containing diluted white rum to his lips. The doctor opened one eye at the first sniff of the rum. Then he opened his mouth. But even after that reviving draught he did not feel altogether himself or quite clear in his mind. He fingered the bump on his low forehead and tried to remember just how he had come by it. Glan- cing about him, he noticed the window. Then he remembered. " Where's my mate? " he cried. " Where's my box? Did you see big white sailor? Tell me, you black dogs, where 's the bosun gone to? " The natives gazed at him mournfully and shook their heads. The doctor, swearing vaguely, tried to get to his feet from the low couch upon which he had been lying; but his brain felt as if it were spinning around in his skull, his knees gave way and back he fell. " More rum! More drink! " he cried. They understood that and gave him more rum ?te I.: hi 220 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS and ^-ater. He lay still for twenty minutes or so, muttering and moaning, the while the native man and woman stood at a respectful distance and eyed him anxiously. At the end of that time he staggered up and reeled across the hut to where a long-bladed keen-edged cane-knife hung on the wall. He took this down, drew two silver dollars from his pocket and threw them on the floor, and staggered through the doorway and into the sunlit trail, the heavy, sabre-like knife flashing in his right hand. He kept to the trail for a distance of about twenty yards, then reeled into the jungle and fell. He got to his feet again, curs- ing Hke the traditional trooper, and again went down. The force with which his head had struck the clay floor of the hut had been terrible, and the white rum had not helped to steady the shocked bram or the wobbling knees. He lay flat de- ciding to wait in the shade until his strength should return to him. Then he would travel far and fast and recover the dispatch-box containing those precious pearls. In the meantime, and quite unintentionally, he fell asleep. Thanks to his fatigue, sore head and the white rum, he slept a long time. The boatswain was in a raging temper when he ^s^- ■nznM^^mi PAST ADVENTURES 221 reached the hut, and the discovery that the bird had flown did not improve it. He questioned the brown people, by signs and the few words of their language that he knew; and he learned that his mate had recovered, swallowed rum and water, possessed himself of a dangerous weapon and departed in an uf^ly mood. Which way had he gone? Up the trail, with murder in his eye. Joe felt puzzled at that information. If the doctor had the pearls, what was he angry about? But he was a sly lad, was the doctor. No doubt he was only pretending to be angry. i CHAPTER XVIII THE WILD MAN'S EARLY ADVENTURES, CONCLUDED. THE FEVER LEAVES DICK Joe Banks made himself quite at home in the hut of mud-and-wattle. He settled himself in a comfortable chair, planked a silver dollar and a ragged milreis note on the table and called for rum and cigarettes. The doctor had made a fool of him, beyond a doubt; but, after all, was it not better so. No one aboard the barque had seen him leave in the doctor's company; he had not so much as set eyes on the pearls ; his past record was good, and so the captain would not suspect him of any more serious crime than that of taking shore-leave under cover of darkness So he decided to spend the day quietly and pleas- antly m the hut, and if someone from the ship did not find him by evening he would return and report himself, tell a simple little story, deny all knowledge of the doctor, take his mild punish- ment like a lamb, ?nd return to his duty. His life was not ruined after all. So, instead of continuing his ravings against the doctor, he fell to congratu- 222 ^ve EARLY ADVENTURES 223 lating himself on being so safely rid of the thief and the incriminating pearls. He drank to his return to an honest career in the biting white rum. Ho was so pleased with himself and his rescued virtue (for that was his simple way of looking at the matter), that he congratulated himself often and wet each congratulation with a bumper of the native liquor. The doctor awoke shortly after sunset. " Guess I'll not go any further to-night," he said. " I kin track that fool of a bosun easy enough to-morrow." So he got stiffly to his feet, picked up his cane- knife and started back for the hut. He entered quietly. A small lamp in a smoky shade stood on the table, and beside the table sat the boat- swain, eating baked bread-fruit and roasted chicken and applying a clay bowl to his lips be- tween every bite. His eyes were red and he rocked unsteadily in his chair. At the sight of him the doctor forgot his own weakness and stiff- ness and the other's bulk. With a snarling cry he raised his great knife and sprang toward the table. Joe ree^ i up drunkenly and over- turned table, lamp, dishes and rum. The doctor tripped and fell in the mess, his knife in the scat- tered vegetable? and his forehead against the 224 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS -•» i» m edge of the table Tliu spilled flame of the broken lamp leaped re-: acrw ; the thin clothing on his breast. Joe Banks, maddened with rum, and blind to reason and humrn instincts, swung up the heavy chair upo- . • r icL he had Ijeen seated and brought it crashing: "o .n ipon the other's neck and shoulders. A'^um he struck with all hh weight — and agam. T],^v. th- back of the chair broke in his hands rl.c ik -3 leap^.l high, and a woman screamed. The boatswain stooped and turned the doctor over, singcini; his hands on the burning' garments. The face of the sly thief was the mask of a dead man, and all al -ut him spoti'ed the oil-fr 1. rum- fed flames. Then Joe Bariks sprang away and fled into the darkness; and ho-rx that tragic moment his mind knew only occasional seasons of sanity. The boatswain did not retttrn to the Sea Robin nor was he ever found by any member of her crew. For da\> he roved abOb a few loiiars ir m lan he had murdered driving traveilec lindly, and something that rt brought him, after many days, to the sea. A- last he found a port, and a north- bound arqui itine short of hands. So he shipped t rinj, )ne of his infrequent intervals of sanity), ^or i he lor^ vo age to Quebec, in Canada. Though le did hi v - k well, having lost none of his knowledge seamanship, the captain and mate and his companions in the forecastle soon dis- Iff ,; 226 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS covered his trouble. But he was a good sailor and did not seem dangerous, so the captain decided to do nothing until Quebec was reached. " Then I U hand him over to the authorities, and they'll Clap the poor devil into a mad-house. no doubt " he said to the mate. During that long voyage (which was broken for a period of two weeks at the little island of Barbados, where the barquentine stumped her ballast of sand and took on a cargo of molasses) Joe Banks spoke often of his old mate the doctor Of course he did not mention the particulars of that gentleman's untimely end. All his hearers could gather on the subject was that he had at some stage of his hidden career, been on very intimate terms with a doctor who had a weakness for rum and who was not above cooking stews on occasion; so they got the idea into their simple heads that the big crazy man had once been in a position to mix. in terms of equality, with the professional classes." The mate was deeply impressed by this. " Like as not. sir." said he to ^e captain. " he's a person of some importance. We 11 certainly have to hand him over to the right people for such cases when we get to Quebec " i-ong before the mouth of the St. Lawrence V- -^.nM UK KAN- DOWN A VOING MOOSE. I: : I h 1 •," \ :' 1 1,;r: it r k l. ;/«s%i^IP EARLY ADVENTURES 227 River was reached, something of the captain's and mate's intentions toward him had come to Joe's ears. " They'll put me in jail," he thought. " They've found out about the doctor." But he kept along at his work and did not mention his fears to any one. At last the barquentine reached the gulf and entered the great river. On the night of the second day on the river she lay close in to the northern shore. Then Joe Banks made a neat bundle of his modest belongings, helped himself to a tin kettle and such food as he could find in the galley, cut away and lowered the smallest of the boats and rowed ashore. He set the boat adrift as soon as his feet were on the sands, and without a backward look entered that vast and unknown wilder;'ess. He was without fire-anns and his supp-y of food was insufficient for longer than a few days; but, crazy as he was, he was full of resources. He was mad, and loneliness and unknown dangers held no terrors for him. The privations through which he passed without in- jury would have killed a sane man. He ate berries and killed grouse and hares with stones. He ran down a -^ung moose, killed it with his knife, smoked ; ;sh and made moccasins and clothing of its hiov — for he had his sail-needles, palm and i 1 14- lie li o^ \n: .1 'I If - i"- * 228 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS waxed threud in his ditty-bag. He found a young panther m a niountain-cave, slew its devoted mother, and took possession of the cave for that first winter. He tamed the young panther and taught it to hunt for him. When spring came, he continued his aimless journey, accompanied by the half.grown panther. Within five years of leaving the ship he established himself in the den from which his expeditions were made that brought him to the notice of Dick Ramsey and Sober Sam; and year by year during ibat time his periods of sanity had become briefer and less frequent. But he was a master of wood -craft now, and even without the help of fire-arms was able to wrest a living from the wilderness. He was a master of the wild even as the wolves and bears were masters of It; but, being a man, he was master of the beasts as well. Cold, starvation, accident and illness were the menaces that lurked in the gloomy forests for him. Of the animals he had nothing to fear, for he was the master-animal of them aU — a reasoner (in his mad way) ; an animal with hands; the possessor of fire and edged tools; the owner of a mind that could teach a mountain- panther to do his bidding — to hunt and share its kill with him. EARLY ADVENTURES 229 One morning Dick awoke and found both Joe Banks and Billy the panther seated before the fire. Though his recollections of the past few days were hazy and fragmentary his eyes and mind were clear enough now. "I am hungry," he said. " What have you got to eat? " The wild man, who was suffering a season of sanity at the moment, approached the couch. He felt the lad's face and hands and looked into his eyes. " The fever has left ye," he said. " It has biu-ned itself out. But ye must have a care, lad. I'll make ye some rabbit soup." " Good. And please be as quick about it as you can," returned Dick. '• I feel as empty as a drum. But what's troubling you, Joe? You look as solemn as an owl." " I don't feel extra gay," admitted the wild man, sullenly. " This ain't what ye'd call a gay life, Dick — a-livin' up in this here God-knows- where country with a wild beast for a mess- mate." " You are right. It can't be lively. You must join us at the shack." "Oh! I reckon I be happy enough between times," said the wild man, uneasily. '* It's when 230 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS W ift;t 111' tr'j i I remembers things — all kinder old things — that I feel bad." He returned to the "ire, cut half a hare into fragments, which he placed in the rusty kettle to stew, tossed the other half of the Httle animal to the panther and then left the cave for more wood. When he returned to the den, a few min- utes later, he was the cheerful, grinning lunatic again, his memories dimmed and distorted by a foolish mist and his conscience untroubled. He placed a few sticks on the fire, sniffed at the boil- ing meat in the kettle, scratched the top of the panther's head, and at last seated himself on the floor beside Dick. " I reckon ye feel better, lad," he said. " Well, I be glad of it, for this here fever kills more men nor rum. Aye, ye may lay to that — though rum has killed a fair few, here an' there. There was the doctor, now. We sailed a v'yage together, him an' me — an' 'twas rum killed him — white rum. Aye, that's so — but I don't rightly remember just how it come about." " How is the soup doing? " asked Dick. " I could drink a gallon of it." " Soup'll soon be ready, " returned Joe. " Wish it was pea-soup." EARLY ADVENTURES 231 " Why did you leave the sea? " asked the other. The wild man glanced at him sharply. " I don't rightly remember — an' sometimes, lad, I ain't certain as I have left her. Tis only two nights ago — sure as I sailed bosun aboard the Sea Robin — I heard six bells go, natural as life. An' sometimes I hear the doctor — him as was mixed up with me in a matter o' a little rum ashore — knockin' the pans and^jots about in the galley. Aye, lad, all as natural as life, an' ye may lay to that. An' I hear the surf every day — boom an' crash — boom an' crash — just Uke it runs into the reefs in them little islands I ust to sail to. So I reckon I'll sign on c*gin, some day, with Cap'n Mann o' the Sea Robin." " That soup must be cooked by this time," said Dick. " Man alive, I can smell it. It'll spoil if you boil it any longer. Dish it up, man, dish it up. Pass the kettle along. Let me have a swig at it." " 'Tain't what ye'd rightly call cooked," re- turned Joe, examining the contents of the kettle, " but as ye be in such a way for it, lad, here goes." He poured the bowl full of the hot, thin liquid in which floated a few fragments of half-cooked flesh. Dick sat up weakly, clasped the wooden K \& { I M I,* 232 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS bowl in both hands, sipped eagerly but gingerly until a httle of the heat was gone from the soup, and then put away the balance in five great gulps. Then he forked up the pieces of meat with his fingers and devoured them with relish. " Fine! " he exclaimed. " Best broth I ever tasted ! There is more in the kettle, Joe. Give me some more." The ex-boatswain shook his head and grinned. " No, ye don't," said he. *' Ye can't come round Joe Banks with none o' that talk. I've seen fever afore, I have — an' many a good lad go as much as half a v'yage, maybe, without so much as a bite o' Christian food, an' then start in, all of a sudden, an' bust himself with eatin'. Aye, lad, that's gospel. Ye may Liy to that. Queer thing, fever. Ye '11 get no more o' that there soup afore the sun crosses the yard-arm." " Oh! don't be a fool," said Dick. " To hear you talk one would think you were a doctor. How's a little soup — just another little cupfull — going to hurt me? It wasn't much stronger than water, anyway. Weakest stuff I ever swal- lowed. Come on, Joe — one more bowlfuU! Just one, there's j good chap. Buck up! " " Ye'd better lay down an' shut yer hatch," re- -Xi^^i^iv^'-' "ai'«w"T*'''wi*'r' •■■?* m- EARLY ADVENTURES 233 turned Joe. " That's soup what is soup — alto- gether too strong for a sick man what's just es- capin' f'-m the brink o' a feverish grave. Nay, lad, ye've had yer breakfast — an' I must say ye gulped it most unmannerly. Reg'lar fo'castle manners, I must say. But if ye '11 lay quiet for a little while, lad, I'll give 'e some more afore long." " How soon? " inquired Dick, fretfully. " Why, as to that," replied Joe, " just as soon as I come below agin. It be bosun's watch on deck, now." f m r s: •: ■ , 1 I CHAPTER XIX SOBER SAM's troubles AND ANXIETY. HE SETS OUT, AT LAST, TO OOK FOR HIS VANISHED PARTNER. A QUEER MEETING To go back to Sober Sam, in the shack at the lower end of Two-Fox Pond. After Dick's de- parture, the old fellow pulled his blankets about him and resigned himself to meditation. This was all very well for a few hours; but noon and hunger awoke him to activity — that is, to par- tial activity. His reflective peace was broken. He lay and grumbled for another hour, then got slowly from his bunk and hopped over to the fire on his sound foot, the other hanging unsupported and aching dully. Hopping here and there, resting frequently and grumbling without cause, he managed to make a pot of tea and cook a scrap of dinner. With this and his pipe he returned to his blankets. The hours crawled past and the wintry twilight touched the little window. Darkness came, but did not bring Dick Ramsey. The old trapper's complaints grew louder and stronger. Again he left his bunk; and this time he lit the 234 SOBER SAM'S TROUBLES 235 lantern and set it in the window. He hopped to the door and gazed into the outer darkness. " I guess dat dam young idjit has gone huntin' for dat fief," he muttered. " He too a'mighty brave." He forgot to eat any supper and kept awake all night, suffering greatly from anxiety for his partner and not a little from his cut foot. At the lifting of dawn he fell asleep, and lay in the grasp of uncomfortable dreams of bad medicine and snarling panthers for several hours. Sober Sam passed the day in a fever of helpless anxiety. By afternoon he was convinced that some grave misfortune had befallen his partner — that some one of the grim dangers of the winter- wilderness had found him. And here he was in the shack, as useless as if chains of iron bound him to the log walls. He could not put his foot to the ground. He could only hop about the shack and picture a hundred terrible things. He was fond of the young EngHshman. Dick was his partner, his friend, his comrade in Ion- liness and hardships. It almost drove him mad to keep to the shack while Dick might be dying for need of him. He kept a sharp look-out at door and window and fired his rifle many times for a signal. Thoughts of the man in the bear skin and of his companion ^;i ■^ M 236 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS the panther haunted him. What deviltry had these two committed ? The day passed, and an- other restless night. In the morning he fed the fire with the last of the wood in the shack. Then he bound his lame foot in a blanket and hopped out, axe in hand. After two hours of suffering and severe toil he had enough wood cut and collected to feed the fire for another night and day. He returned to his bunk and slept heavily until long past noon. The work of wood-cutting and water-carrying put the healing of Sam's foot back for a week at least. But anxiety did him more harm than the suffering in his foot. The days and nights dragged along. "Guess Dick i dead," he muttered. " But I'll go see, anyhow, soon's I kin put on two racquets. An' maybe I fin' what killed 'im — an' den I guess I settle for dat, you bet ! Dick, he darn fine man — jes' like brother to me. Guess I raise hell a little bit in dis country if somebody kill my frien' Dick." Though his foot had been paining him more than usual for the past three days, he now discovered that he could touch it to the grotmd and even put some of his weight on it. But the muscles of his iminjured leg, over- strained of late by doing double service, pained SOBER SAM'S TROUBLES 237 him a good deal. Since Dick's departure, Sam had not once thought of the traps. What were a hundred pelts — even a hundred of the priceless black fox — to the hfe of a brother? One day Sam spent a good part of the afternoon in working with one of his racqu : 5. He set in new thongs, weaving them strongly, making an extra loop for the toe that was almost as wide as the frame. He did not skimp the work, for a great deal depended on its success. Beneath the new toe-loop he re- inforced the netting of the racquet with extra thongs. That done, he set to work to make a mammoth moccasin of moose hide and blanket for his sore foot. It was big enough for two ordinary feet - for Sam had no int- n ion of letting the frost get at his weak spot. Je ^jv. > the moccasin roujj[hly but strongly. It w?,? 'Ui.slifd by supper time. Sam was early astir next morning, though the lift of the new day brov^ht no lightness of hope to his heart. Leaving his blankets in the morn- ing was now nothing more cheerful than a matter of duty — of painful duty. He cooked and ate a good breakfast, made a pack of food, sleeping- bag and blankets, filled his cartridge-belt, cleaned his rifle and whet his axe. Then he clothed him- m. :! mi s 41 ■«. Ml 'Hi -4' ■fl =.'t w fl ' • »- M"- in % '1 I : ! lid 238 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS self warmly, dressed his wounded ioot as usual — in two woollen socks, a felt stocking and a moose- lined moccasin — and got the tender member ready for the trail. Over the inner bandage he drew a stocking of fine wool, over this two woollen socks, then a larger stocking of Dick's, then a felt stocking, then a sort of shapeless blanket case which he tied at the knee, and last of all the new mammoth moccasin. Now he put on his racquets — the one with the reinforced mesh and wide toe-strap on the lame foot — shouldered his pack, rifle and axe and left the shack. Sam travelled slowly and rested often, taking no chances with his weak foot. He was glad to find that it carried him well and gave very little trouble. He set his course straight up the middle of the lake, where the way was level as a table. His intention was to hunt for the headquarters of the poacher in the bear skin and from that formidable person demand information of Dick, He felt convinced that the wild man or the panther knew what had happened to his partner; and he meant to find out what they knew — and act accordingly. All fear of that mysterious pair had left him. The only fear that he felt now was that he should never again see and speak to SOBER SAM'S TROUBLES 239 young Dick Ramsey. He reached the swamp at the upper end of the lake without mishap, and there rested for the third time since leaving the shack. " Plenty of time," he murmured. " No hurry. Guess ray ca'tridges 'ill keep a night. Guess I'll be soon enough for dat dam t'ief, any- how. He won't scare me to-day you bet! " So he smoked his pipe and rested his foot for a good half hour. When he started on his way again he moved even more slowly than before, owing to the roughness of the " going " in the tangled swamp. He kept a sharp lookout overhead, under foot and on every side. Snow had fallen during the night, so he was sure of making no mistake between old tracks and new. Sometimes he halted, squatted with his weight on his sound foot, and listened intently. Where the tangled thickets of the swamp rise to the opened glades of the forest he came upon the famihar tracks of the round snow shoes. They were leading into the swamp, at a point a few hundred yards away from that at which he had come out ; but their stubby tails pointed in the direction of Wigwam Mountain. Sober Sam glanced about him cautiously. ' ' Guess I don't foller 'm," he muttered. " Guess I know de way he come from — an' maybe find his shack (t^j Pi P i * 240 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS and wait for him to come home. He t'ink dat a'mighty good joke, maybe." So Sam took the back trail of the round lac- quets and plodded slowly onward towards the shaggA' flanks of old Wigwam. But he halted frequently and looked back. The lower slopes of the mountain were still a long half mile distant when Sam felt the need of another rest. He low- ered his pack from his shoulder, sat down on it and filled and lit his pipe. He had chosen his position for resting at a point from which he had a clear view of the trail for about fifty yards in each direction. The air was bitterly cold but the sun shone brightly. Sam smoked calmly, gazing placidly around as if he liad come out for no other purpose than to admire the landscape ; but across the knee lay his rifle, uncased. He was about to knock the ashes out of his pipe when the man he was looking for entered his range of vision, tram- pling on his round snow shoes in the very imprints of Sam's longer and more graceful racquets. Yes, it was the wild man! His head was bent, as if he inspected the trail. The great bear skin hung like a cloak from his broad shoulders. His absurd racquets lifted and dipped like the webbed feet of a water-bird. SOBER SAM'S TROUBLES 241 Sam, at the first shock, let his pipe fall to the snow; but h^ stooped immediately, recovered it and stowed it away in his pocket. Then, smiling grimly, he got to his feet, faced the approaching wild man squarely and raised his rifle. The thief came on, his head bent, his eyes intent on the trail. He recognized the tracks as those of Sam s snow-shoes, and his poor, flighty misty brain was 'rtruggling with an association of ideas. He knew he had seen and followed these same tracks before. They suggested tobacco — yes, and they suggested the lad back in the cave. But they were not Dick's tracks. They could not be Dick's tracks. Ah, he remembered the little brown fellow now — Dick's mate in the big shack. That was a little man who smoked such good, strong tobacco. He must get some more of that tobacco soon. Yes, he must make a trip to the shack to-morrow — if he didn't forget. He raised his head, saw Sobtr Sam in the trail, and halted. He stood silent for a moment, then gave vent to that terrible, unearthly peal of laughter. " You shut up! " exclaimed Sam. " You can't scar' me no more. You jes' the feller I was lookin' for. You better not try to run, neither, or you get shot. Yes, you bet." M f i4 i::|i 242 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS The wild man stopped laughing and grinned silently instead. He looked harmless, though decidedly "balmy." Sam moved toward him, slowly, cautiously, his rifle ready. Ihe other- trembled, but held his ground. He wanted to run, and scream, and laugh; but he also wanted to know what the chances were for a pipefull of tobacco and if the little brown man had even met the " doctor " and what he had to do with Dick. His curiosity was stronger than his idiotic desire to run and set the woods ringing with his mad laughter. He remembered noth- ing of his former dealings with Sam — of the mad chase through the woods and the many bullets that had gone wide — though he had recognized the prints of the trapper's snow-shoes at a glance. His was a madness entirely with- out method. All his crimes against Dick and Sam had been committed in innocence, though with wonderful cunning. He had never visited the shack openly because a shyness of humans had grown in him of which he was unconscious. But he had become used to Dick — and this little brown man was in some way or other con- nected with Dick. In the matter of frvghten- ing the partners and robbing their traps the pan- SOBER SAM'S TROUBLES 243 ther had been a more intentional offender than the mad sailor. As Sober Sam drew near, the poor ex-boatswain began to stammer and lick his lips. He looked very foolish and very harmless. " Got any baccy, mate? " he asked. " My pipe's bin cold a long time." " You take me to your shack and maybe I give you some tobac," replied Sam. " Did 'e ever sail shipmates with a lad called the doctor? " inqviired Joe. Sam shook his head. " Never sailed with no- body," said he. "What you talk about ship for? " " Reckon ye sailed a v'yage with Dick, didn't ye, mate? " " Dick? What you know about Dick? You tell me pretty quick ' Maybe you kill 'im! " " You wrong, mate. What d've think I'd kill him for — him or any other man? Joe Banks don't kill men, ye may lay to that Dick's had yeller-jack, he has — an' he'd be dead now, an* ti})pcd off the hatch into the sea but for my doc- terin'. Aye, that's gospe-1. Will you give me one plug o' baccy if i show vou where Dick is? " '«idd 'IT •i ■^ *i ^ 244 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS " Give 3 ou two plugs, maybe — if you show me Dick a'right." "One pipefuU now, mate," begged Joe, grin- ning hopefully and producing his black clay from somewhere in his shaggy clothing. " One pipe now, mate — an' then we'll go see Dick." "You t'ief plenty tobac from me a'ready," said Sam. " An' you rob my traps, too, an' run me through de woods one-time. WTiat for you do dat? " The wild man shook his head. " Ye must be dreamin', mate," he said. "Joe Banks don't rob baccy nor traps from any man. The doctor, now - well ye might call him a thief an' make no mistake." "Where dis doctor, anyhow?" asked Sam, glancing apprehensively around. " Oh, he's dead," said Joe. " Darn good thing too." ^' " Guess .so," returned the trapper. " But where dat darn painter? " " Painter? " " Big cat. Big cat what you hunt with." "Oh! Bill. \^^11, mate, Bill's below, a lookin' after Dick. I name him Bill because — " " You take me quick! " cried Sam. " Quick! vv, ■ ;:^,-?.-^^-'--:r,^-%;^--"'^:r--vv:-?-^:-^;r*a.'t.v :v^ SOBER SAM'S TROUBLES 245 Turn round. Maybe he chaw Dick dis very minute. Turn round, quick ! Light out for home ! " The wild man gazed at him blankly for a mo- ment, then turned with a shrill yell and bounded away along the trail — away from the mountain, away from Dick. Sam saw his mistake in a flash and started after him, leaving his pack in the snow. That he had frightened the poor, crazy fellow was easy to see. " You come back," he yelled. " Dat a'right. Plenty good tobac for you. You come back." But Joe Banks was well started in panicky flight, and even the magic word "tobac " could not stop him while he was going at top speed. Sam ran well, carrying only his rifle; but for speed he was no match for the wild man on the round racquets. The trapper ran like a human and the other like some leaping animal; the one like a man with a game leg and the other like a sound -limbed stag. " Hoi' on! Hoi' on! " yelled Sam. " Plenty tobac. Plenty tobac." But Joe did not slacken his pace; and Sam snicked a cartridge from the loaded magazine of his rifie into the breech. He meant business. He had no intention of losing this connecting iiy ■ i : 246 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS link with Dick's fate and whereabouts for lack of a little blood-shed. But, just as he raised the rifle, a happy accident brought the wild man to a sudden halt. He had dropped his precious pipe. CHAPTER XX SOBER SAM FINDS HIS PARTNER, FRIGHT JOB GBTS A The wild man's clay pipe, which he had taken from its hiding place in the expectation of ob- taining some tobacco from Sober Sam, and which he had kept in his hand diiring his unreasonable flight, had slipped from his fingers and fallen into the soft snow beside the trail. He stopped short, turned like a dodging hare and with a low cry of consternation began to search for the precious thing. He knelt, pulled his fur mittens from his hands and fumbled about in the snow. At that si^ht, the trapper lowered his rifle and slowed his pace to a walk. " Better keep cool," he muttered. " Dat crazy feller scar' a'mighty o/oick — quicker nor he ever scar' me." So he advanced calmly until within a yard of the crouching ex-boatswain. " You lose somethin*? " he inquired. " Yoa lose pipe maybe." " Aye, mate, my pipe took a hop out o' my fingers," replied Joo, without looking up. " Onlv 247 i k U t. ' w !■ (• If' 248 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS pipe I got, too. She dropped somewheres about here, I'm thinkin'. Lend a hand, mate." Sam took a careful sur^'ey of the snow at the side of the trail. About three feet further out than where the wild man was clawing like a dog unearthing a bone, he marked a short narrow cut in the otherwise flawless surface. He stepped out, sank hand and arm and produced the pipe. " Dis your pipe. I guess," he said, passing it over to its delighted owner. " Mighty fine pipe, you bet. Guess we have one little smoke now afore we go see Dick." He drew a plug of tobacco from his pocket, his knife from his belt, and shaved off enough of the fragrant pressed leaf to fill two pipes. Joe Banks watched the operation with grinning jaws and dancing eyes. Soon both pipes were alight and blue wisps trailed upward in the sunlit air. " Now we'll sit down, mate, an* yarn a bit," said Joe. " No. Guess we better go home an' see Dick, smoke jes" as good walkin' as sittin'." returned Sam. " Den we have dinner, maybe, an' smoke some more." '' Right ye be. mate. We'll go home, we will, an' spin a yarn or two by the galley fire,' agreed ;t SAM FINDS HIS PARTNER 249 the other, in high good-humour. They turned and started to retrace their steps, Joe in the lead. Sam reshouldered his axe and pack when they reached the place of their first meeting. In his anxiety to learn something of Dick, he pressed close upon the tails of his guide's snow-shoes, so close that the other had either to maintain a brisk pace or take the risk of being tripped. So the queer couple — the tall, long-haired, wild-eyed lunatic and the short, calm-eyed Indian — pressed forward toward the rugged base of Wigwam Mountain. The wild man glanced over his shoul- der every now and then, grinning a protest at the other's speed. Once he said, " Ye seem to be in a rare hurry, mate," and slackened his pace for the fraction of a second. " Yes, I be," re- turned Sam, stepping on the tails of the leader's racquets. They reached sloping ground. The slope grew steeper and steeper with every yard covered. Now Joe kept inclining to the right, and soon they were on a beaten trail, unmistakable in spite of the four-inch covering of the last fall of snow. By this time they were well up the wooded flank of the mountain, and the trail did not give an inch to rough places or steep. Sam would gladly have slowed the pace now, for though MICROCOPY RESOLUTICN TEST CHART (ANSI ond ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 1.0 I.I 1.25 Hi 2.B m 13.6 110 1.4 2.5 1 2.2 2.0 1.8 A APPLIED IIVMGL ^^ '653 East Mom Street Z^S Rochester, New York 14609 USA '-^ (716) 482 - OJOO - Phone ^S (716) 288 - 5989 - Tax 250 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS i^ t ■*■*. his foot had stood the strain wonderfully, thanks to its many dressings and wrappings, the very weight of those wrappings was telling on him. But Joe Banks had taken the hint and did not intend to have his heel stepped on again. Sam began to drop behind ; and an awful fear that his guide would pass beyond his sight and then suffer another attack of crazy panic prompted him to exert his wits. The trail was steep and twisty, the old man's padded foot of formidable weight and feeling weightier with every step. " Time for more smoke," he called. " No good to go hungry for one more smoke." The wild man glanced over his shoulder and saw the other standing with the plug of tobacco in his hand. He halted, expectantly. Sam with- drew the mitten from his right hand and produced his knife. "No hurry," he said. " What you in such a'mighty rush about, anyhow? You don't like good tobac, maybe? Yovir pipe still full maybe?" " Reckon I kin stand another pipefull, mate," replied Joe grinning. After filling and lighting their pipes they advanced again at a leisurely pace. "How much fiuther? Pretty near there?" asked Sam. SAM FINDS HIS PARTNER 251 " Aye, pretty nigh home now," replied the other and blew a shrill whistle on his fingers. The call was answered before the echoes of it had died away by a leaping grey shape on the trail ahead. At sight of it, Sam brought his rifle to his shoulder. Joe saw the motion and knocked the weapon from the trapper's hands with a mighty sweep of his arm. " That's Bill, ye d swab," he cried. " Don't ye go tryin' any o' yer backwoods monkey-shines on Bill." Sam drew his knife. The panther crouched in the trail, Joe gripped Sam by the shoulder with fingers as hard as wood. " Ye'd better put that knife away, mate," he Wiispered, "or ye'll get yerself into trouble." " But he'll jump for me," gasped Sam. " Not him," returned Joe. " Wouldn't hurt a hair o' yer head. Bill wouldn't, if he knows ye be a friend o' mine. Put up yer knife quick." Sam obeyed, though with evident reluctance. Joe loosed the grip on his shoulder and patted him on the back. " Look'e here. Bill, this gent ain't to be bit, mind that. Wouldn't try to harm ye for any money, he wouldn't. Take a good squint at 'im, Bill — an' remember what I say." The panther straightened his legs, turned and w : *)■■: ■ Hi 252 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS walked up the trail. Sober S . i was amazed and simply stood and stared. " Now, mate, pick up yer gun an' come along," said the wild man. " Don't fret about Bill. Treat him polite an' he'll treat ye likewise." " Yes, I treat him polite, you bet," agreed Sam, hastily. Five minutes later they reached the mouth of the den. Joe pointed proudly to the low entrance. " Here we be, mate," he said. " Not much to look at, ye'll say, but good enough for a poor sailorman betv.'een v'yages. I've seen better an' I've seen worse. Now there was my old shipmate the doctor, he was alius cussin', he was. Said as how he was ust to better things nor his berth aboard the Sea Robin. Well, he got ust to worse — if my memory serves me. Aye, ye may well say it. He come to his end and in a worse berth nor the one he was alius cussin' at ; but just how it all happened I've forgot. He wasn't a mate to be trusted, wasn't the doctor." This babbling fell on deaf ears. Sam pointed at the low entrance of the shapeless, snow-drifted mound against the side of the mountain. " Is Dick in there? " he asked. " Is Dick in there? " " Aye, there be a lad in there, in me own berth. Mi SAM FINDS HIS PARTNER 253 Aye, Dick's what he calls himself, mate; but how he come there I coiildn't tell 'e," replied Joe. The old trapper trembled with eagerness. Was it true? Was Dick really in there, — alive? He stepped forward. "Hey! Dick! You there, Dick? " he called. " Hullo," replied a familiar voice from within. " That you, Sam? Come in. Come in." The old trapper sprang forward, dropped his pack and stooped to enter the den ; but Joe Banks thrust him aside. " Me first," he said. " Bill in there, too — and perhaps he wouldn't act just right, at first, mate, if he seen ye comin' in too suddent." So Sam drew aside and the wild man entered ahead of him, crawling in on hands and knees. Sam followed close, eager to assure himself by the proof of his eyes that Dick was still alive; but, with a half-thought of the panther in his mind, he carried his knife unobtrusively in his right hand. Just within the low den, the fore-part of which was built of logs in continuation of the natural cave that formed the rear part, he paused and gazed around, blinking his eyes in the darkness. There was the wild man just ahead of him, now standing in a stooped position; beyond those long l'4 \i 254 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS legs firelight wavered cheerfully but feebly; and by that swaying iUumination he saw the panther sitting in front of the primitive hearth, as harmless and innocent as a kitchen rat 'or. Then, from the darkness beyond the panther, a lank 'figure advanced unsteadily. " You there, Sam? " inquired a famihar voice. It was Dick. Yes, beyond a doubt, it was Dick. Sam scrambled to his feet, snow-shoes and aU Dick grasped his hand. They beamed at each other in the fitful firelight. " WeU, you dam queer fellow," remarked Sam. "I t'ink you dead, sure. How you get here I like to know." "Never mind that now," said Dick. "I've been ill - and Joe pulled me through. But how is your foot ? Heavens ! it looks as big as a house. How did you get around to cut your wood and fetch the water? " ^^ "Never min' dat," returned Sam, smiling. "Both still ahve, anyhow — an' dat more'n we deserve, maybe. You look a'mighty like one old skeleton, Dick. Mighty glad to see you though anyhow. Kinder t'ink I find your real skeleton laym' out on de snow. Well, how you feel anv- how? " ' ^ "Oh. pretty fit -but hungry," replied Dick. SAM FINDS HIS PARTNER 255 " Weak in the legs but amazingly strong in the stomach. I went five days just drinking herb tea, you know. Got anything to eat in your pockets? " " Maybe," said Sam. " You let me get my racquets off, an' dis gran' bit moccasin, an' den we eat some grub. You not cook very fine dinner here, I guess. You eat it raw maybe." Dick patted him on the back. Then, " If you'll excvise me, Sam, I'll just go back and sit on my bed. I'm still pretty shaky. Get off your things. Don't step on Bill's tail," he said. He retired and lay down on his couch of skins. Joe put more wood on the fire. Sam got his outer coat off and slipped his snow-shoes from his feet. Then he freed his lame foot from its numerous outer wrap- pings. This done, he looked around the cave with friendly interest. Diner was supplied from Sam's pockets and Joe's rusty tea-kettle. The panther dined off a bone that was none too fresh. After that, Sam and Joe smoked their pipes and all talked save the panther. He went out to look for another bone, All the rational conversation was between the two trappers, for poor Joe could think of nothing bat ancient and hopelessly muddled I " i n 256 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS deep-sea adventures. But he was in a very cheer- ful frame of mind and looked upon Sam as an old friend. Dick told his partner of his one-sided fight with the panther, and of how the wild man had rescued him from certain death. Sam's round face lost a shade of its mah ^any tint. Maybe he try it agin," he said. " .n painters mighty distrustful critters. He w.. all ready to jump on me, if dat crazy feller hadn't told him to quit. Guess I'd better shoot him sometime when his partner ain't lookin'." " Don't you do it," exclaimed Dick. " Bill's a good cat, and he jumped on me because he thought I was his enemy. Now we're the best of friends. I tell you I'm really fond of him, Sam and I wish I owned him. I believe he has more sense than poor Joe Banks ever had ; but Joe's a good fellow too, though mad as a hatter " " Dat right," returned Sam. " Queer t'ing you and me ever be scar'd of him. But he a mighty big fief, anyway, and I guess we better make him promise to leave our traps alone." " Perhaps that is easier said than done," replied Dick, smiling. " I don't believe he knew that he was robbing our traps. He thought the traps grew where he found them, no doubt, and simply ICf.i SAM FINDS HIS PAKTNER 257 took what natvire so kindly offered him. And when he chased you that day, Sam, I believe he was really more frightened than you were." " Maybe so," said the old Indian, " and maybe not so. He heap big fool, all right, but he know enough to pick out one black fox skin from whole lot more skins. He know good t'ing when he see it. Maybe you find dat fox skin afore dis, Dick? " Dick shook his head. " No, I haven't seen it yet," he said. " To tell you the truth, I haven't thought for days. It is worth a lot of money, I know ; but it seemed a very small thing to worry about when I did not know if I'd ever get out of this den alive. But now that we are both safe I suppose we'd better get to work at ^■c again." > -. . ooked grim. He was about to remind Dick th^'t not a trap had been attended to within the last ten days or more when the wild man, who had been mumbling to himself about his friend, the doctor, brought his mind suddenly back to his surroundings and clutched the old trapper by the arm. " Look'e here, mate, ye never told me when ye come ashore," he cried. " Nor what ship ye . ^°!»>i>sftf i»»9^a^ia9Ba^^ 4il ,•1, Mt 258 COMRADES OF THE TRAILS belong to, nor if Cap'n Mann be still a-huntin* for me and the doctor in Pemambuco. Ye've bin yarnin' away to Dick there, an' never half a word for me." He shook Sam none too gently, and his eyes looked even more than usually wild. " Tell him," said Dick. " Make up some sort of yarn. Tell him you know the captain. Hurry up. He gets like this sometimes." "Dat's a'right," said the trapper. "I come ashore a mighty long time ago — from a ship dey caU de Mary Jane. Yes, dat righ.. An' Cap'n Mann, he still huntin' for you. Yes, you bet. He say he wanter give you some money." " No, not money," said Joe, quite calmly and pleasantly. "Ye off the course there, mat-. Wasn't it sonethin' about pearls, now.? Wasn't he wantin' to see me and the doctor about four pearls? " " Yes, dat right," returned Sam. "An' I see the doctor, too. He say he comin' up dis way to visit you, maybe." He was astonished by the effect of his flight of imagination upon the wild man — astonished and dismayed. Joe sprang to his feet. "What's that ye say, mate?" he cried. " ^Vhat's that ye say? Did ye see the doctor? SAM FINDS HIS PARTNER 259 Did ye see him? an' did he name me — Joe Banks? " Sam saw that he liad tcAiched a sore spot. He became cautious. " Maybe 'twas 'nother doctor," he said. •,: i i I !■ CHAPTER XXI SAM AND THE WILD MAN HUNT TOGETHER SAM INQUIRES ABOUT STOLEN BLACK FOX SKIN AND RECEIVES NO SATISFACTION The wild man stood on the clay floor of the den, towering above the astonished trapper his eyes staring, his bewhiskered face a picture of dismay. •• mat did he look like? " he whispered m a shaky voice. " What did the doctor look like ? Runt o' a man was he, with black eyes an' lan- tern jaws? Tell me, mate." Sam reflected that this doctor mus^. be a person of some importance in the wild man's past — and evidently a person whom the wild man was not at all anxious to see again - and a smaU man It seemed, with black eyes and lean jaws. WeU,' he must get away from dangerous ground with all dispatch. He had a pretty clear head on his square shoulders, hod cid Sober Sam. ^^ " I guess you make one big mistake," he said. " Doctor I see, he bigger no you, a'most, an' his eyes de colour of blueberries, an' his face fat as a 260 } ! 1 SAM AND THE WILD MAN 261 1 1 V\'ar'c Viam in K*»rrv-timp Hp snv tn mi». * Hoi Dv mv n frien' Mister Joe, what I give five pills to, ten year ago, for de belly-ache? ' " Dick laughed long and loud. Sa»-i smiled slightly — very slightly. Joe Bank? coked at once puzzled and relieved. " Well, ate, ye've got me there," he said. " I don't recollect no such doctor as that; but my memory ain't just as good as it ust to '.) . I be glad it wasn't t'other chap ye met, anyway — for he's dead! " " Hah! " exclaimed Sam. "Aye, dead as nails," replied the wild man. " Dead as Jonah an' all the other kings o' Egypt. Dead as buttons. Aye, ye may lay to that, mate." " Guess so," said Sam, nodding his head. " But you tell me, Joe, what vou chase n for one day, all through the woods an' down the