Kitabı oku: «The Banner Boy Scouts Snowbound», sayfa 7

CHAPTER XIX
NEWS OF BIG GAME

“Faith and would ye mind tillin’ me how that same might be done?” asked Tolly Tip, showing considerable interest. “I niver knowed that ye could shoot a bear with a shmall contraption like that black box.”

Some of the boys snickered, but Paul frowned on them.

“When we speak that way,” he went on to explain, “we mean getting an object in the proper focus, and then clicking the trigger of the camera. We are really just taking a picture.”

“Oh! now I say what ye mane,” admitted the woodsman; “but I niver owned a camera in all me life, so I’m what ye’d call grane at it. Sure ’tis a harmless way av shootin’ anything I should say.”

“But it gives a fellow just as much pleasure to get a cracking good picture of a wild animal at home as it does a hunter to kill,” Phil Towns hastened to remark. Tolly Tip, however, shook his head in the negative, as though to declare that for the life of him he could not see it that way.

“If you can show me a place that the black bear is using,” Paul continued, “I’ll fix my camera in such a way that when Bruin pulls at a bait attached to a cord he’ll ignite the flashlight cartridge, and take his own photograph.”

At that the woodsman laughed aloud, so novel did the scheme strike him.

“I’ll do that same and without delay, me lad,” he declared. “I’ve got a notion this very minute that I know where I might find my bear; and after nightfall I’ll bait the ground wid some ould combs av wild honey.”

“Wild honey did you say?” asked Jud, licking his lips in anticipation, for if there was one thing to eat in all the wide world Jud liked better than another it was the sweets from the hive.

“Och! ’tis mesilf that has stacks av the same laid away, and I promise ye all ye kin eat while ye stay here,” the woodsman told them, at which Jud executed a pigeon-wing to express his satisfaction.

“And did you gather it yourself around here, Tolly Tip?” he inquired.

“Nawthin’ else,” acknowledged the old trapper. “Ye say, whin Mister Garrity do be staying down in town it’s small work I have to do; and to locate a bee tree is a rale pleasure. Some time I’ll till ye how we go about the thrick. Av course there’s no use tryin’ it afther winter sets in, for the bees stick in the hive.”

“And bears just dote on honey, do they, the same as Jud here does?” asked Frank.

“A bear kin smell honey a mile away,” the woodsman declared. “In fact, the very last time I glimpsed the ould varmint we’ve been spakin’ about ’twas at the bee tree I’d chopped down. I wint home to sacure some pails, and whin I got back to the spot there the ould beast was a lickin’ up the stuff in big gobs. Sure I could have shot him aisy enough, but I had made up me mind to take him in a trap or not at all, so I lit him go.”

“So he got his share of the honey, did he?” asked Jud.

“Oh! I lift him all I didn’t want, and set a trap to nab him, but by me word he was too smart for Tolly Tip.”

“Then I hope you salt the ground to-night,” remarked Paul, “and that I can set my camera to-morrow evening and see what comes of it.”

It was not long before they were sitting down to the first real game supper of the excursion. Everybody spoke of it as “Bobolink’s venison treat,” and that individual’s boyish heart swelled with pride from time to time until Spider Sexton called out:

“Next thing you know we’ll have a real tragedy hereabouts.”

“What do you mean?” demanded Phil Towns.

“Why,” explained Spider, “Bobolink keeps on swelling out his chest like a pouter pigeon every time somebody happens to mention his deer, and I’m afraid he’ll burst with vanity soon.”

“And when the day’s doings are written up,” Bluff put in, “be sure and put in that another of our gallant band came within an ace of being terribly bitten by a savage wild beast.”

“Please explain what it’s all about,” begged Tom. “You see Jack and I were away pretty much all day. You and Sandy went off with Tolly Tip, didn’t you, to see how he managed his traps? Was it then the terrible thing happened?”

“It was,” said Bluff, with a chuckle. “You see Tolly Tip kept on explaining everything as we went from trap to trap, and both of us learned heaps this morning. Finally, we came to the marsh and there a muskrat trap held a big, ferocious animal by the hind leg.”

“You see,” Sandy broke in, as though anxious to show off his knowledge of the art of trapping, “as a rule the rat is drowned, which saves the skin from being mangled. But this one stayed up on the bank instead of jumping off when caught in the trap. Now go on, Bluff.”

“Sandy accidentally got a mite too close to the beast,” continued the other. “First thing I knew I heard a snarl, and then Sandy jumped back, with the teeth of the muskrat clinging to the elbow of his coat sleeve. An inch further and our chum’d have been badly bitten. It was a mighty narrow escape, let me tell you.”

“Another thing that would interest you, Paul,” Bluff went on to say, “was the beaver house we saw in the pond the animals had made when they built a dam across the creek, a mile above here.”

“Beavers around this section too!” exclaimed Jud, as though it almost took his breath away.

“Only wan little colony,” explained Tolly Tip.

“I’d give something to get a picture of real, live beavers, at their work,” Paul remarked.

“Thin ye’ll have till come up this way nixt spring time, whin they do be friskin’ around like young lambs,” the woodsman told him. “Jist now they do be snug in their winter quarters, and ye’ll not see a speck av thim. If it’s the house ye want to take a picture av, the chance is yours any day ye see fit.”

After supper was over Jack and Tom took a look at the new bunks.

“A bully job, fellows!” declared the latter, “and one that does you credit. Why, every one of us is now fitted with a coffin. And I see we can sleep without danger of rolling out, since you’ve fixed a slat across the front of each bunk.”

“Taken as a whole,” Frank announced, “I think the scouts have done pretty well for their first day at Camp Garrity. Don’t you, fellows? Plenty of fish and venison in the locker, all these bunks built, lots of valuable information picked up, and last but not least, coals of fire poured on the head of the enemy.”

They sat around again and talked as the evening advanced, for there was an endless list of interesting things to be considered. Later Paul accompanied the old woodsman on his walk to the place where he believed the bear would pass. Here they set out the honey comb that had been carried along, to serve as an attractive bait.

“Ye understand,” explained Tolly Tip, as they wended their way homeward again in the silvery moonlight that made the scene look like fairyland, “that once the ould rascal finds a trate like that he’ll come a sniffin’ around ivery night for a week av Sundays, hopin’ fortune wull be kind till him ag’in.”

As the boys were very tired after such a strenuous day, they did not sit up very late.

Every lad slept soundly on this, the second night in camp. In fact, most of them knew not a single thing five minutes after they lay down until the odor of coffee brought them to their senses to find that it was broad daylight, and that breakfast was well under way.

Paul and Jud left the camp immediately after breakfast intending to go to the place where the honey comb had been left as bait. Tolly Tip, before they went, explained further.

“Most times, ye say, bears go into their winter quarters with the first hard cold spell, and hibernate till spring comes. This s’ason it has been so queer I don’t know but what the bear is still at large, because I saw his tracks just the day before ye arrived in camp.”

When the pair came back the others met them with eager questions.

“How about it, Paul?”

“Any chance of getting that flashlight?”

“Did you find the honey gone?”

“See any tracks around?”

Paul held up his hand.

“I’ll tell you everything in a jiffy, fellows, if you give me half a chance,” he said. “Yes, we found that the honeycomb had been carried off; and there in the snow were some pretty big tracks left by Bruin, the bear!”

“Good!” exclaimed Frank Savage, “then he’ll be back to-night. It’s already settled that you’ll coax him to snap off his own picture.”

CHAPTER XX
AT THE BEAVER POND

The second day in camp promised to be very nearly as full of action as that lively first one had been. Every scout had half a dozen things he wanted to do; so, acting on the advice of Paul, each made out a list, and thus followed a regular programme.

Jud, having learned that there were partridges about, set off with his shotgun to see if he could bag a few of the plump birds.

“Don’t forget there are ten of us here, Jud!” called Spider Sexton, “and that each one of us can get away with a bird.”

“Have a heart, can’t you?” remonstrated the Nimrod, laughingly. “Cut it down to half all around, and I might try to oblige you. Think of me, staggering along under such a load of game as that. Guess you never hefted a fat partridge, Spider.”

“I admit that I never ate one, if that suits you, Jud,” replied the other, frankly.

Paul on his part had told Tolly Tip he would like to accompany him on his round of the traps on that particular morning.

“Of course, I’ve got an object in view when I say that,” he explained. “It is to take a look at the beaver house you’ve been telling me about. I want to take my camera along, and snap off a few views of it. That will be better than nothing when we tell the story.”

“Count me in on that trip, Paul,” said Spider Sexton. “I always did want to see a regular beaver colony, and learn how they make the dam where their houses are built. I hope you don’t object to my joining you?”

“Not a bit. Only too glad to have you for company, Spider,” answered the scout-master. “Only both of us are under Tolly Tip’s orders, you understand. He has his rules when visiting the traps, which we mustn’t break, as that might ruin his chances of taking more pelts.”

“How can that be, Paul?” demanded the other.

“Oh! you’ll understand better as you go along,” called out Bluff, who was close by and heard this talk. “Sandy Griggs and I learned a heap yesterday while helping him gather his harvest of skins. And for one, I’ll never forget what he explained to me, it was all so interesting.”

“The main thing is this,” Paul went on to say, in order to relieve Spider’s intense curiosity to some extent. “You must know all these wild animals are gifted with a marvelous sense of smell, and can readily detect the fact that a human being has been near their haunts.”

“Why, I never thought about that before, Paul,” admitted Spider; “but I can see how it must be so. I’ve hunted with a good setter, and know what a dog’s scent is.”

“Well, a mink or an otter or a fox is gifted even more than the best dog you ever saw,” Paul continued, “and on that account it’s always up to the trapper to conceal the fact that a human being has been around, because these animals seem to know by instinct that man is their mortal enemy.”

“How does he do it then?” asked Spider.

“You’ll see by watching Tolly Tip,” the scout-master told him. “Sometimes trappers set their snares by means of a skiff, so as not to leave a trace of their presence, for water carries no scent. Then again they will wade to and from the place where the trap is set.”

“But in the winter-time they couldn’t do that, could they?” protested Spider.

“Of course not, and to overcome that obstacle they sometimes use a scent that overpowers their own, as well as serves to draw the animal to the fatal trap.”

“Oh! I remember now seeing some such thing advertised in a sporting magazine as worth its weight in gold to all trappers. And the more I hear about this the stronger my desire grows to see into it. Are we going to start soon, Paul?”

“There’s Tolly Tip almost ready to move along, so get your gun, and I’ll look after my camera, Spider.”

At the time they left Camp Garrity it presented quite a bustling picture. There was Bobolink lustily swinging the axe and cutting some wood close by the shed where a winter’s supply of fuel had been piled up. Tom Betts was busying himself cleaning some of the fish taken on the preceding day. Jack was hanging out all the blankets on several lines for an airing, as they still smelled of camphor to a disagreeable extent. Several others were moving to and fro engaged in various duties.

As the two scouts trotted along at the heels of the old woodsman they found many things to chat about, for there was no need of keeping silent at this early stage of the hike. Later on when in the vicinity of the trap line it would be necessary to bridle their tongues, or at least to talk in whispers, for the wary little animals would be apt to shun a neighborhood where they heard the sound of human voices.

“One reason I wanted to come out this morning,” explained Paul, “was that there seems to be a feeling in the air that spells storm to me. If we had a heavy fall of snow the beaver house might be hidden from view.”

“What’s that you say, Paul—a storm, when the sun’s shining as bright as ever it could? Have you had a wireless from Washington?” demanded Spider, grinning.

“Oh! I seem to feel it in my bones,” laughed Paul. “Always did affect me that way, somehow or other. And nine times out of ten my barometer tells me truly. How about that, Tolly Tip? Is this fine weather apt to last much longer?”

The guide seemed to be amused at what they were saying.

“Sure and I’m tickled to death to hear ye say that same, Paul,” he replied. “By the powers I’m blissed wid the same kind av a barometer in me bones. Yis, and the signs do be tilling me that inside of forty-eight hours, mebbe a deal less nor that, we’re due for a screecher. It has been savin’ up a long while now, and whin she breaks loose—howly smoke, but we’ll git it!”

“Meaning a big storm, eh, Tolly Tip?” asked Spider, looking a bit incredulous.

“Take me worrd for the same, lads,” the woodsman told them.

“Well, if your prediction comes true,” said Spider, “I must try to find out how to know what sort of weather is coming. I often watch the predictions of the Weather Bureau tacked up at the post office, but lots of times it’s away off the track. Bobolink was saying only this morning that he expected we’d skip all the bad weather on this trip.”

At mention of Bobolink’s name, the trapper chuckled.

“’Tis a quare chap that same Bobolink sames to be,” he observed. “He says such amusin’ things at times. Only this same mornin’ do ye know he asks me whether I could till him if that short tramp’s hand had been hurted by a cut or a burrn. Just as if that mattered to us at all, at all.”

Paul did not say anything, but his eyebrows went up as though a sudden thought had struck him. Whatever was in his mind he kept to himself.

When they arrived at the marsh where Tolly Tip had several of his traps set he told his companions what he wanted them to do. Under certain conditions they could approach with him and witness the process of taking out the victim, if fortune had been kind to the trapper. Afterwards they would see how he reset the trap, and then backed away, removing every possible evidence of his presence.

Both scouts were deeply interested, though Spider rather pitied the poor rats they took from the cruel jaws of the Newhouse traps, and inwardly decided that after all he would never like to be a gatherer of pelts.

Later on Tolly Tip led them to the frozen creek, where they picked up a splendid mink and an otter as well. Shrewd and sly though these little wearers of fur coats were, they had not been able to withstand the temptation of the bait the trapper had placed in their haunts, with the result that they paid the penalty of their greed with their lives.

Finally the trio reached the pond where the beaver lived. It was, of course, ice covered, but the conical mound in the middle interested the boys very much. Paul took several pictures of it, with his two companions standing in the foreground, as positive evidence that the scouts had been on the spot.

They also examined the strong dam which the cunning animals had constructed across the creek, so as to hold a certain depth of water. When the boys saw the girth of the trees the sharp teeth of the beavers had cut into lengths in order to form the dam, the scouts were amazed.

“I’d give a lot to see them at work,” declared Paul. “If I get half a chance, Tolly Tip, I’m going to come up here next spring if you’ll send me word when they’re on the job. It would be well worth the trip on horseback from Stanhope.”

Upon arriving at the camp toward noon the boys and their guide found everything running smoothly, and a great deal accomplished. Jud had not come back as yet, but several times distant shots had been heard, and the boys were indulging in high hopes of what Jud would bring back.

“You musn’t forget though,” Paul warned these optimists, “that we’re not the only pebbles on the beach. There are others in these woods, some of them with guns, and no mean hunters at that.”

“Meaning the Lawson crowd,” remarked Bobolink. “Your statement is quite true, for I’ve seen Hank do some mighty fine shooting in times past. He likes nothing so much as to wander around day after day in the fall, with a gun in his hands, just as old Rip Van Winkle used to do.”

“Yes,” remarked Jack, drily, “a gun in hand has served as an excuse for a loaf in more ways than getting the family bread.”

“Hey!” cried Bluff, “there comes Jud right now. And look what he’s got, will you?”

CHAPTER XXI
SETTING THE FLASHLIGHT TRAP

“Jud’s holding up one measly rabbit, as sure as anything!” exclaimed Bobolink, with a vein of scorn in his voice, as became the lord of the hunt, who on the preceding day had actually brought down a young buck, and thus provided the camp with a feast for supper.

“We’d soon starve to death if we had to depend on poor old Jud for our grub!” remarked Tom Betts, with a sad shake of his head.

“All that waste of ammunition, and just a lone rabbit to show for it! They say successful hunters must be born, not made!” Sandy Griggs went on to say.

Other sarcastic remarks went the rounds, while Jud just stood meekly, seeming to be very much downcast.

“Are you all through?” he finally asked, looking up with a grin. “Because before you condemn me entirely as a poor stick of a hunter I want to ask Bobolink here, and Spider Sexton to walk over to that low oak tree you can see back yonder, and fetch in what they find in the fork. I caved on the home stretch and dropped my load there.”

“Good for you, Jud!” exclaimed Paul. “I suspected something of the kind when I saw the soiled condition of the game pockets in your hunting-coat, and noticed that a partridge feather was sticking to your hair. Skip along, you two, and make amends for joshing Jud so.”

Of course Bobolink and Spider fairly ran, and soon came back carrying seven plump partridges between them, at sight of which a great cheer arose. Like all fickle crowds, the boys now applauded Jud just as strongly as they had previously sought to poke fun at him.

“Oh! I don’t deserve much credit, boys,” he told them. “These birds just tree after you scare them up, and make easy shots. If they flew off like bullets, as they do in some parts of the country, that would be a bag worth boasting of. But they’ll taste mighty fine, all the same, let me tell you!”

During the afternoon the scouts found many things to interest them. Tolly Tip, of course, had to take care of the pelts he had secured that day, and his manner of doing this interested some of the boys considerably.

He had a great many thin boards of peculiar pattern to which the skins were to be attached after stretching, so that they would dry in this shape.

“Most skins ye notice are cut open an’ cured that way,” the old woodsman explained to his audience, as he worked deftly with his knife; “but some kinds are cased, bein’ taken off whole, and turned inside out to dry.”

“I suppose you lay them near the fire, or out in the sun, to cure,” remarked Tom Betts. “I know that’s the way the Indians dry the pemmican that they use in the winter for food.”

“Pelts are niver cured that way,” explained the trapper, “because it’d make thim shrink. We kape the stretcher boards wid the skins out in the open air, but in the shade where the sun don’t come. Whin they git to a certain stage it’s proper to stack the same away in the cabin, kapin’ a wary eye on ’em right along to prevint mould.”

All such things proved of considerable interest to the scouts, most of whom had very little practical knowledge along these lines. They were eager to pick up useful information wherever it could be found, and on that account asked numerous questions, all of which Tolly Tip seemed delighted to answer.

So another nightfall found them, with everything moving along nicely.

“Guess your old barometer didn’t hit it far wrong after all, Paul,” remarked Sandy Griggs, about the time supper was nearly ready, and the boys were going in and out of the cabin on different errands.

“It has clouded up to be sure,” said the scout-master, “and may snow at any time, though I hope it will hold off until to-morrow. I mean to set my camera trap to-night, you remember, with another comb of wild bee honey for a bear lure.”

“I heard Tolly Tip saying a bit ago,” continued Sandy, “that he didn’t believe the storm would reach us for twelve hours or more. That would give you plenty of time to get your chance with old Bruin, who loves honey so.”

“Jud’s promised to go out with me and help set the trap,” Paul remarked. “You know it’s a walk of nearly a mile to the place, and these snowy woods are pretty lonely after the dark sets in.”

“If Jud backs out because he’s tired from his tramp this morning, Paul, call on me, will you?”

“Bobolink said the same thing,” laughed the scout-master, “so I’m sure not to be left in the lurch. No need of more than one going with me though, and I guess I can count on Jud. It’s hard to tire him.”

“Wow! but those birds do smell good!” exclaimed Sandy, as he sniffed the air. “And that oven of Tolly Tip’s, in which he says he often bakes bread, seems to do the work all right. Looks to me like one of the kind you get with a blue flame kerosene stove.”

“Just what it is,” Paul told him. “But it works splendidly on a red coal fire, too. We’re going to try some baking-powder biscuits to-morrow, Bobolink says. He’s tickled over finding the oven here.”

The partridges were done to a turn, and never had those hungry boys sat down to a better feast than several of their number had prepared for them that night. The old woodsman complimented Bobolink, who was the chief cook.

“I ralely thought I could cook,” Tolly Tip said, “but ’tis mesilf as takes a back sate whin such a connysure is around. And biscuits is it ye mane to thry in the mornin’? I’ll make it a pint to hang around long enough to take lissons, for I confiss that up till now I niver did have much success with thim things.”

Again some of the scouts had to warn Bobolink that he was in jeopardy of his life if he allowed his chest to swell up, as it seemed to be doing under such compliments.

After that wonderful supper had been disposed of, Paul busied himself with his camera, for he had several things to fix before it would be ready to serve as a trap to catch the picture of Bruin in the act of stealing the honey bait.

Jud fondled his shotgun, having thoughtfully replaced the bird shells with a couple of shells containing buckshot that he had brought along in the hope of getting a deer.

“No telling what we may run across when trapsing through the woods with a lantern after nightfall,” he explained to Phil Towns, who was watching his operation with mild interest, not being a hunter himself.

“What would you do if you came face to face with the bear, or perhaps a panther?” asked Phil. “Tolly Tip said he saw one of the big cats last winter.”

“Well, now, that’s hardly a fair question,” laughed Jud. “I’m too modest a fellow to go around blowing my own horn; but the chances are I wouldn’t run. And if both barrels of my gun went off the plagued beast might stand in the way of getting hurt. Figure that out if you can, Phil.”

After a little while Paul arose to his feet and proceeded to light the lantern they had provided for the outing.

“I’m ready if you are, Jud,” he remarked, and shortly afterwards the two left the cabin, Tolly Tip once more repeating the plain directions, so that there need be no fear that the boys would get lost in the snowy woods.

Paul was too wise a woodsman to be careless, and he took Jud directly to the spot which the bear had visited the preceding night.

“Don’t see anything of the creature around, do you?” asked Jud, nervously handling his gun as he spoke.

“Not a sign as yet,” replied Paul. “But the chances are he’ll remember the treat he found here last night, and come trotting along before many hours. That’s what Tolly Tip told me, and he ought to know.”

“Strikes me a bear is a pretty simple sort of an animal after all,” chuckled Jud. “He must think that honey rains down somehow, and never questions but that he’ll find more where the first comb lay. Tell me what to do, Paul, and I’ll be only too glad to help you.”

The camera was presently fixed just where Paul had decided on his previous visit would be the best place. Long experience had taught the lad just how to arrange it so that the animal of which he wished to get a flashlight picture would be compelled to approach along a certain avenue.

When it attempted to take the bait the cord would be pulled, and the cartridge exploded, producing the flash required to take the picture.

“There!” he said finally, after working for at least fifteen minutes, “everything is arranged to a dot, and we can start back home. If Mr. Bear comes nosing around here to-night, and starts to get that honeycomb, I reckon he’ll hand me over something in return in the shape of a photograph.”

“Here’s hoping you’ll get the best picture ever, Paul!” said Jud, earnestly, for he had been deeply impressed with the clever manner in which the photographer went about his duties.

They had gone almost a third of the way over the back trail when a thrilling sound came to their ears almost directly in the path they were following. Both boys came to a sudden halt, and as Jud started to raise his gun he exclaimed:

“Unless I miss my guess, Paul, that was one of the bobcats Tolly Tip told us about.”