Part 10

Suddenly clouds smothered the moon, and the watchers found themselves aloft in inky blackness. They had about decided to descend and hurry home when the worst racket they ever heard broke out below them. Yowls, hisses, and snarls filled the air and caused the hair of the frightened youngsters in the tree to stand on end.

“Hey, Bill, there are two of them, and they’re fighting!” cried his friend, in great alarm.

At that moment they heard something clawing its way frantically up the tree. A minute later two shining green eyes were peering into their own. It was too much for the startled hunters. Bill slid down the rough trunk and left the seat of his trousers on a stub, and his friend dropped through the branches.

Bruised and jarred, they scrambled to their feet. They were on the point of dashing home with a wild tale of adventure when their own house cat brushed lovingly against their shaking legs. Then a plaintive meow sounded from the tree-top as the second pussy hailed them.

The boys laughed at Bill’s story, and said it made them think of the night they climbed the tree in the swamp.

The trapper fixed the stove for the night, and Moze stretched out behind it and was soon snoring loudly. Bill said they would have a hard trip on the morrow, and advised them to go to bed. He promised to awaken them at daylight.

True to his promise, Bill had them up and out with the first ray of light. Much against his wishes, Moze was left behind securely locked in the cabin. The boys carried their rifles, and Bill carried a stout hickory club.

They traveled through the fragrant evergreen forest for about an hour. Then they came to the head of the trap line in a shallow ravine. Bill had two traps set there about a spring-hole. He hoped to capture a mink whose tracks he had seen in the mud earlier in the season, and more recently in the first fall of snow.

The traps were unsprung and the bait undisturbed, and Bill thought the mink had wandered off to other hunting-grounds for a few days. He said it would probably return, and left some fresh bait. Then he started for his next trap.

Before they came to it, the trapper called attention to the trail of a large lynx. Bill explained the difference between its tracks and those of the fox and the dog.

“The lynx’s tracks differ from both the others’ by showing broader, more rounded impressions in the snow. Its trail is wider and indicates a shorter stride than that of the fox, when both animals are walking. The fox and the dog tracks are quite similar in form, especially when the animals are of the same size. But the tracks of both are more pointed than those of the lynx. The dog trail, more particularly when the animal is walking, can always be distinguished by noting the position of the paw-marks. At such a time they are seen one behind the other in an oblique line. Neither of the other trails shows such an angle.”

Bill thought the lynx, whose trail crossed their path, was hunting through a neighboring swamp in search of the large hare, or “snowshoe rabbit.” The boys were surprised to learn that this hare could jump ten or more feet when going at top speed, and that while running before hounds it would travel almost as fast and as far as a deer. They learned, too, that, like the weasel, its fur was brown in summer and white in winter. The lads were anxious to get one of these hares, and Bill promised some day to take them into its haunts.

As they drew near the place where he had his next trap, the boys saw some kind of an animal plunging about among the bushes.

“Hurrah! We’ve got something!” cried Ed.

“What is it?” inquired George, running ahead to obtain a better view.

“Fox,” said Bill.

The trapper walked forward, club in hand, and leaned over and dealt the animal a blow across the nose. Then he stooped and released the jaws of the trap. Rising, he held up the rich, glossy body of a red fox.

“Don’t you shoot them?” asked Ed, in some surprise.

“No, indeed; that would injure the fur and lose me many dollars,” replied the trapper. “Of course, in the case of a bear, or extra big lynx, I am obliged to put a rifle-ball between the eyes.”

Bill wedged a stick between two adjacent trees and hung the body of the fox from it. Then he cut a slit down the inside of each hind leg to the base of the tail. Next he inserted the knife-blade beneath the cartilage of the tail and severed it from the body. He peeled the skin over the carcass toward the neck and on over the head, first carefully pushing through the bones of the front legs and skinning them down to the paws, which he cut off. Bill was very particular to cut around the eyelids and nostrils. The boys marveled at the skill displayed in removing the pelt. The trapper said that method was known as “boxing” a pelt, and was used in skinning everything except racoons, beavers, and bears. These, he explained, were cut open down the front from chin to tail in what was called the “open” style.

Having finished his task, Bill rolled the pelt into a small bundle and placed it in his pack. After disposing of the body and resetting the trap, he carefully obliterated his tracks by brushing snow over them. Then he uncorked a small bottle and sprinkled a yellow essence, which he called fox scent, over the snow near the trap.

Again they resumed the trail and started for the third set, which was not far from the one they had tended. When they arrived there they found the trap sprung and the bait gone. All about were evidences of a fierce struggle--pieces of broken sticks, patches of gray fur, and the marks of a bloody footprint.

“Been a lynx in there,” declared Bill; “but it just nipped him by the toe, and he thrashed around till he tore loose.”

“Gracious, I’ll bet he was mad!” said George, looking about at the bark-stripped bushes on which the captive had vented its wrath.

Bill carefully reset the trap but said that particular lynx had probably grown wise by its experience, and would no doubt avoid the locality in the future.

They started for the next trap, and this time the trail took them through the middle of another large swamp, which recalled unpleasant memories of the boys’ late experience, and they half expected to hear the weird baying of the wild dogs. Many grouse were flushed, and Ed shot at one with the rifle, but missed. But they soon passed through the wild strip of soggy woodland and came out into the sunshine.

On they went through a stretch of open country, which ended at the border of a woodland pond. Bill pointed out many snow-covered muskrat houses, which had given to the small sheet of water the name of Muskrat Pond.

Bill had opened some of the houses and set his traps inside, and he now visited them to ascertain his luck. The boys were much interested in examining the interiors. They found them very similar to the abodes of the beavers. There was the same comfortable grass-lined living-chamber, the same underground tunnels into deep water, and much the same style of architecture and workmanship.

Some odd features of muskrat life were made known to the boys. They found that, when muskrats travel beneath the frozen surface of the pond in winter, they frequently rise and expel their breath against the ice. Then, after this bubble of air has been purified, the muskrat sucks it back into his lungs and proceeds on its journey, until compelled by shortness of breath to do the same thing again.

They were told, also, that muskrats have a very noticeable odor of musk about them, especially in early spring, which may have given them their name, although the Indian name was musquash; and learned that muskrats warn each other of danger by slapping the water with their tails, like the beavers.

A round of the traps yielded eight prime pelts. When Bill had finished with them, the journey was continued. He said he might easily trap many more muskrats than he did, but he had no desire to exterminate them or seriously decrease their numbers. He took as many as he believed he was entitled to each season, and no more.

The next leg of their circuit led them into a dense hemlock forest, where they found the trail of another lynx. Judged from the size of the footprints, this animal was larger than the one whose tracks they had crossed a short time before. The boys noticed that Bill was following the new trail with keen interest.

“I believe that fellow is going to get mixed up with one of our traps,” he prophesied.

“I guess we’ll have some fun, if he does,” said Ed.

“Shouldn’t wonder,” replied Bill, leading off into a group of small evergreens into which the tracks disappeared.

Hardly had they worked their way into this tangle of forest growth when a wild commotion took place some little distance ahead of them. The trapper turned toward them, laughing.

“He’s here all right, and mad clear through!”

Hurrying to his side, the boys saw a powerful gray animal tugging violently at the trap-chain and tumbling about over the ground. Then it crouched, and they saw the ugly, broad face with its long side-whiskers, and the ears tipped with black-pointed tufts of fur. Snarling and spitting, the lynx sprang forward to the full extent of the steel chain which connected the trap with a heavy log.

“I’ve an order to ship one of these fellows to a menagerie down in Boston. What do you say to taking this one alive?” asked Bill, smiling mischievously at his young companions, who stood aghast at the proposition.

“Gee whiz!” exclaimed Ed, looking at him in amazement.

“How on earth can we do it?” asked George.

“It’s going to be something of a job, but we’ll tackle it, anyway,” declared Bill, putting down the club and removing his pack and coat.

The lynx, as though endeavoring to frighten them, was making frantic efforts to break its bonds. Finding itself unable to do so, it finally squatted down behind the log, growling sullenly whenever they moved.

“Just let him tire himself out; it will make our job all the easier,” said Bill.

He produced several pieces of buckskin from the pockets of his corduroy coat, and two lengths of stout rope, and as many light chains from the pack. Then he took the ax and cut and trimmed a long, straight sapling. Joining the bits of buckskin, he made a slip-noose and fastened it to the end of the pole.

“We’ve got to get this over his head, and then we’ll stretch him out and tie him up,” he said, calmly.

Pole in hand, he made his way slowly toward the lynx, and it immediately jumped at him. When it struck the ground, scarcely two feet away, Bill made an attempt to shoot the noose over its head, but the agile creature sprang aside. For some time these manœuvers continued, and Bill was unable to get the loop over the head of the lynx. Once the encircling loop fell about its neck, and he instantly pulled the circle taut and snared one ear and half the face. Before he could stretch out the powerful body, the lynx tore the noose free with one of its paws.

“He’s sure foxy!” laughed the trapper, pausing to rest a moment.

The lynx again crouched behind the log, and peered over at them with savage eyes. It seemed to be resting and holding in reserve for the next attack.

“We’ll mix him up a little, now,” said Bill. “You fellows get poles and begin to poke at him in front, and I’ll sneak around behind him and try to slip the noose over his head.”

Armed with long poles, the boys advanced and took part in the fray. They made passes at the lynx, which instantly struck aside the saplings and sprang savagely at its tormentors.

Meanwhile Bill had worked his way up behind the animal, and while it fought the boys in front, he made several ineffectual attempts to snare it. But the wily creature, having felt the tickle of the buckskin noose, knew that the trapper was the enemy to be feared most, and it was on its guard.

At last it made a mistake, and, with a yell of triumph, Bill shot the noose over its head and drew it tight.

“We’ve got him now!” he cried.

The boys cheered enthusiastically as the lynx, coughing and snarling, was pulled over on its back and straightened out with its free legs clawing the air. Bill ordered the lads to hold the pole, and keep the lynx prostrate until he inserted a gag between its jaws and tied its feet. He warned them against giving any slack, and said he might be seriously clawed should they make the slightest blunder.

Stretched out with one foot fast in the trap and the choking circle of buckskin about its neck, the lynx was prevented from rising by the boys, who pulled vigorously on the pole. All the while the lynx was thrashing about madly in a useless struggle to free itself.

Working with lightning-like rapidity, Bill soon had the thick, muscular legs tied and drawn securely together. Then, having cut a hardwood gag, two inches thick and four or five inches long, he waited his chance, and slipped it between the jaws of his snapping captive. Next he took a piece of buckskin and passed it about the gag and around the head and jaws of the helpless lynx.

Having rendered the creature harmless, Bill cut two long, heavy poles. These he placed on the ground parallel to each other and about three feet apart. Across them he lashed shorter poles, close together, to form a platform.

Releasing the trap from its leg, Bill and the boys dragged their still defiant prisoner to the rough stretcher, and soon had him securely bound in place.

Then they shouldered the poles, and, carrying the captive between them, they started for the cabin. The lynx was heavy and the country rough, and before they had gone far the lads began to realize that they had a hard job on their hands. But they stuck to it, and finally, with aching shoulders, they arrived before the door of the little shack and set down their burden with a sigh of relief.

“We’ll have to build a good, stout crate to ship him in, and, meantime, we’ll leave ‘his royal highness’ tied up so he’ll do no harm,” said Bill, opening the door.

Moze instantly rushed out and hurled himself upon the prostrate lynx before any one could stop him. The trapper seized him by the neck and pulled him off, else he would surely have killed the helpless animal, which was entirely at his mercy.

“I’m afraid we’ll have our own troubles before we get that gray villain off our hands,” laughed Bill.

XIV A LYNX MAKES TROUBLE

A day was spent building a substantial cage of heavy logs. With some difficulty the lynx was placed inside it, to wait until Bill could borrow a team and haul it to the railroad.

Meantime a three-inch fall of snow had made ideal tracking conditions. As the boys were anxious to follow the fresh trails of the various animals, they determined to take advantage of it, and decided to remain at home while Bill made the round of his traps. They told him they would travel about in the neighborhood of the cabin and see what they could find. The trapper gave them permission to do so, and carefully explained the lay of the land near-by.

When he had gone the boys started out, accompanied by Moze. They carried their rifles, a supply of matches, and a substantial lunch. Choosing a prominent landmark for their goal, they trained their compass on it, and entered the inviting confines of the great white wilderness.

They had not gone far when they came to three piles of grouse feathers beneath a towering hemlock. They stooped down to examine them in the hope of finding a clue to the murderer. There were no footprints near these mute evidences of crime; but George discovered some faint, indistinct tracings across the snow. He and Ed studied them for some time, at a loss to know what had made them.

“I have it!” cried Ed, straightening.

“Have what?” queried George, doubtfully.

“Why, those marks have been made by wing-beats. The murderer is some pirate of the air--a hawk, or near relative of ‘Old Snowball,’ I’ll bet!”

“I believe you’re right,” agreed George, looking up into the tree-tops, as though he expected to see the bold marauder still about.

Just then they heard the noisy commotion of a flock of jays, and they instantly made their way in that direction. They recalled the advice of Ben regarding these birds, and stole noiselessly toward the calls, confident of finding game at the end of their stalk. The jays did not appear to be moving, for their cries came continually from the same place. Stealing cautiously along from tree to tree, the lads at length came in sight of them. Standing motionless, they saw the jays flying angrily about some large, dark-colored object in the top of a tree.

“Look! It has ears!” whispered Ed, excitedly, as an erect tuft appeared on each side of the broad, flat head.

“It’s an owl of some sort; and see--it’s holding a grouse,” said George.

The jays made many vicious swoops; but the owl always turned its head in time to meet them, and the boys distinctly heard the angry snap of its powerful beak.

“Well, here goes for the murderer!” declared Ed, raising his rifle. “If he had taken one grouse we might have let him off; but three are too many for one meal. He’s a ‘tenderfoot’ and a ‘game-hog,’ and, according to Ben, either charge is enough.”

But the owl evidently had other ideas. Just as Ed pulled the trigger it flew, and his bullet cut the branch directly behind where it had perched. It sailed swiftly away among the trees, with the jays in close pursuit.

“Shoot first and talk afterward,” cautioned George, laughing at the discomfiture of his friend.

Moze was baying somewhere off to the right of them. They left the owl to the tender mercies of the jays, and turned toward the hound. They went down into a rocky ravine, across a little brook, and up a hill. Then they heard Moze coming up the other side. Hiding themselves in some bushes, they waited for the appearance of the hound and his quarry, which he seemed to be driving directly toward them. His voice rang out clearly in the frosty air, and the blood of the young hunters tingled. What he was running they did not know, and they waited in suspense.

Suddenly a red streak flashed across the opening in front of them and immediately disappeared into the brush again. The boys grinned sheepishly at each other.

Moze followed a minute later, and, glancing at them from the corner of his eye, he raced on in pursuit of the fox.

“Say, we’re getting pretty bad,” declared Ed, lowering his rifle.

“That’s all right, I didn’t guarantee to hit a streak of lightning,” replied George, looking after the fox. “It’s no use waiting for Moze; he’ll be on the other side of the world by night if he keeps up that pace.”

They resumed their journey through the woods, and near the border of a small swale they jumped a “snowshoe rabbit.”

“There goes just the fellow we have been looking for!” shouted Ed, as the nimble hare bounded away.

“Let’s follow him up,” urged George.

“No, thanks; no more swamps for me!” said Ed, shaking his head.

“Oh, come on; this is a tiny one--you can almost see across it. We can’t possibly get lost,” persisted George, eager to follow the hare.

He finally won Ed’s consent, and together they plunged into the swale. This time they prudently chopped small squares from the tree-trunks to serve as sign-posts when they wished to return.

“We’ll never come up with him. Just look at those leaps,” said Ed, hopelessly.

“He may get tired, and perhaps he’ll squat down somewhere,” suggested George.

Much to their satisfaction, they quickly crossed the narrow bit of marshy forest and came out at a sunny slope along its border. Here George spied the hare squatting under a low bush. Taking careful aim, he killed it with the first shot.

They were delighted with their trophy, and George tucked it into the pocket of his coat with much pride. They had no trouble retracing their course, and, once out of the swamp, sat down to enjoy their lunch. They had seen or heard nothing of Moze, and George laughingly declared he would soon be around the earth on the same trail.

After lunch it began to grow cold, and they decided to return to the cabin and await Bill with his spoils from the traps. The lads followed their back-trail, and were soon in sight of the little log shelter.

They went at once to the cage containing the lynx, and when they reached it, drew back in alarm. The savage inmate had chewed and clawed two bars of his prison until they were all but in half. The merest push or jump of the lynx would snap them asunder and gain him his freedom.

“Great Scott! What shall we do?” cried Ed.

“Don’t go in front of it,” advised George. “If you do, he’ll jump; and then, out he comes! We’ll sneak up from the side, throw our coats over the front of the cage and run into the cabin with it.”

“Hurry! He’s getting ready to spring!” warned Ed.

Creeping up to it from the sides, the boys each grabbed an end of the heavy crate. Pulling and tugging with all their might, they managed to drag it into the cabin.

Hardly were they over the threshold, with the door securely fastened behind them, when the lynx did the very thing they feared it might do--it jumped against the front of the cage! There was an ugly snarl, a snapping of weakened logs, and the released captive bounded into the center of the room and faced them.

The boys made record time out through the doorway. Once outside, they slammed the door shut and stood looking at each other with troubled faces.

“The window, quick!” screamed Ed.

George immediately ran to it and hung his coat over the outside, in the hope of preventing the lynx from jumping through the sash. Then he hastily rejoined his friend, who stood braced against the door, anxiously awaiting some sound from within.

“Well, this is a pretty mess!” he declared, when George came up.

“Yes, but it’s lucky we got here when we did,” said George.

“Maybe not so lucky as we imagine. I’ve an idea there’s going to be considerable of a ‘rough-house’ before things become settled. Besides, there are plenty of lynxes in the woods, and perhaps it might have been better to have killed this one when he jumped from the crate.”

“But he doesn’t belong to us,” George reminded him, “and you know the trouble Bill took to capture him. I’m sure he wouldn’t thank us for shooting it in his absence.”

So far the lynx had remained passive, and the boys were at a loss to know just what it was doing. At last curiosity got the better of them, and Ed tiptoed to the window and peered in. With a startled yell he jumped away, stumbled, and fell in a heap. He had gazed directly into the snarling face of the lynx, which was crouched on the narrow window-sill.

Luckily, the animal was as much surprised and frightened as the boy, and instead of crashing through the glass it sprang away from it.

Then pandemonium broke loose, and by the noise that came from inside the boys knew the lynx was making sad havoc of the few furnishings. Pans clattered and clanged to the floor; the table went over with a bang; and in dismay they heard various pieces of crockery tumble from the shelves as the lynx leaped wildly about the little room. At one time he must have alighted on the hot stove, and he gave evidence of the fact by a scream of pain. Then he crashed against the door, and the boys threw their combined weight against it. Then he quieted down. Ed and George were anxious to see the damage he had done, but dared not peer through the window, lest they invite an attack.

It grew bitterly cold, and they were obliged to stamp their feet and swing their arms to keep their blood circulating. Several long hours dragged by, and the short winter day came to a close. Still they kept vigil on the outside of the cabin. Again and again the lynx stirred things up, and once their hearts almost stopped, when they heard him strike against the window. It was evidently a glancing blow, for it did not break the glass, and the lads breathed a sigh of relief.

“I wish Bill would show up,” said Ed, swinging his arms and blowing on his benumbed finger-tips.