Part 12

Then they “hit the trail” again. Moze, evidently very tired, was content to follow slowly along at their heels. Suddenly he stopped, raised his head, and sniffed the air suspiciously. The hair along the back of his neck rose instantly, and he began to growl.

“He’s got wind of something,” declared Bill, halting and searching the forest with his eyes.

“What do you suppose it is?” asked Ed.

“Don’t know; I can’t see any tracks. What’s the matter, Moze?” inquired the trapper, addressing his hound.

For answer the dog uttered a long, dismal howl and dashed away into the woods, his nose held high against the wind. For some time his excited yelps could be heard ringing through the forest. Finally they died away in the distance as he ran out of hearing.

“Well, there’s no use waiting for him,” said Bill. “He’s gone the other way.”

Once more they resumed the journey, though the boys would have lingered there in the hope that Moze might drive something to them. Farther on they came to the fresh trail of what Bill declared was a large lynx. They wondered if it was this animal that had enticed Moze into a chase.

Just beyond, Bill was much surprised to find fresh moccasin tracks headed in the direction he and the boys were traveling. The unknown footprints soon branched off to follow some deer tracks, and the trapper wondered who the mysterious hunter might be.

Suddenly they heard a rifle-shot, far to the right, and a second one a moment afterward. They halted at once, and the boys turned to Bill for an explanation.

“Whoever that is has got his deer, I reckon,” he said, when the echo of the reports had subsided. “There’s nobody hunts this country except Ben and me; not unless it’s Indian Pete.”

“Indian Pete?” chorused the lads, thoroughly interested by the possibilities of such a name.

“Yes, he’s an old Indian trapper who wanders down here from the north. Pretty good old fellow, too. Did me a big favor once.”

“Are there Indians near here?” inquired George.

“No; he’s the last of a tribe that lived north of here a long time ago. Most of them died off, or went to a reservation, which is about the same thing; but Pete did some jobs for the State and stayed here. When he became too old to work he built himself a little shack, and lives by hunting and trapping. If it’s Pete, we’ll probably find him at the cabin, ’cause he and Ben are great friends.”

When the sun hung low and the early shadows of a winter afternoon began to gather, Bill halted and pointed to a spot far below them, where lay the lake in front of the cabin. The little log abode was not visible, but a thin, wavering column of blue smoke rose above the tops of the pines and showed them where it was. They knew that the guide was expecting them for supper.

“I can almost smell the biscuits,” laughed Ed.

“And the bacon, and beans, and coffee, and--” began George.

“Hold on there, son! You’ll get indigestion smelling so fast,” Bill laughed, as they hurried on down the mountain.

It was almost dark by the time they had crossed the lake. Their loud helloas brought Ben to meet them.

“Thought you fellows had deserted me,” he laughed, when they drew near. “Helloa, Bill, I’m powerful glad to see you; walk in. Hey, Moze, you old black rascal!”

A tall, straight figure in buckskin rose and greeted Bill. The boys gazed, fascinated, for it was none other than Indian Pete.

“Pete, these are the fellows I’ve been telling you about. Shake hands with Ed Williams and George Rand,” commanded the guide.

The lads beamed with pleasure when the long, bony hand of the Indian closed tightly over their own. For a moment or two he stood smiling down at them. Then he relaxed his friendly grasp and resumed his seat.

Bill learned that the tracks they had seen had been made by Pete. The two shots had sealed the doom of a noble five-prong buck, which now hung outside the cabin. While the Indian and the trapper conversed, Ben busied himself with the preparation of the evening meal.

The boys, left to themselves, noted Indian Pete’s well-proportioned athletic figure; his coarse, straight black hair, which fell below the square shoulders; his wrinkled, copper-colored face, with its prominent nose and cheek bones, and most particularly his penetrating black eyes, which looked directly into those of the listener.

Although Bill had told them that Pete was well over seventy years, they would not have judged him to be more than fifty-five or sixty. The lads looked on him admiringly as a superb specimen of well-preserved manhood. They were so much interested in the old Indian that for the time being they forgot all about “Snow Ball,” the captive owl.

They were soon reminded of his presence in a most startling manner. Moze, in wandering about the room, crawled inquisitively under one of the bunks. Instantly there was a terrific commotion, and the hound promptly bounded out with “Snow Ball” holding fast to his tail.

The poor dog raced twice around the room before the great white bird lost its grip. Then, finding himself free, Moze tried to retrieve his reputation. He dashed bravely at his new-found adversary. It instantly turned over on its back and scratched his nose with its sharp talons. The dog jumped away with a yelp of pain, and seemed content, thereafter, to stand out of harm’s way and express his opinion in a series of savage barks.

Laughing heartily, Bill took hold of him, and Ben caught up the owl and set it on a perch which he had made for it. The bird allowed itself to be freely handled by the guide, who promptly fastened a small chain about its leg and left it serenely preening its ruffled plumage and glaring fiercely at Moze.

“Those two will be enemies for life, I reckon,” prophesied Bill.

“How on earth did you ever make ‘Snow Ball’ so tame?” Ed inquired.

“Just fed and treated him well; which will bring ’most any wild creature around.”

They all gathered about the table to do full honor to the supper which Ben had prepared. He and Bill exchanged glances of amusement when the boys chose their seats, one on either side of Indian Pete.

“By gracious, to-morrow will be Christmas!” cried George, later, as they were sitting before the stove.

“Strange we’ve had no word from home,” said Ed, in a disappointed tone.

“Don’t let it worry you, son,” drawled Ben, rising and going to the book-shelf. “There are several letters and books here for you. Yes, and a big box, too, over beyond, under that robe; but it’s not to be opened until to-morrow.”

He handed the letters and magazines to Ed and George, winking at Bill as he resumed his seat.

“How did you get them?” asked Ed.

“Why, Tom Westbrook came over and took me to town.”

The boys read the letters from home with much enjoyment. When they had finished, they went over to the box and began raising the folds of the robe that hid it.

The guide playfully dragged them away. Then they promised that they would not open the box until the next morning if Indian Pete would tell a story, and his tale of a single-handed fight with a wolf closed the evening.

XVII CHRISTMAS AT THE CABIN

“Merry Christmas, everybody!”

This from the boys as they slipped quietly from their bunk.

“Merry Christmas!” replied Bill, turning in his blankets.

“Merry Christmas, and many more of them!” added Ben, sitting up drowsily.

“Merry Christmas, Pete!” shouted George, determined that no one should be left out of the cordial greetings.

“Chrismus!” returned the Indian, his dark eyes twinkling kindly.

“Well, you fellows stole a march on us this time,” laughed Ben, as he rose and lighted the lamp--it was still dark outside.

“Now for the box!” cried Ed.

“Yes, let’s open it!” urged George.

They soon had the cover off, and were busily engaged taking out the contents. There was a deliciously roasted turkey with dressing such as they relished at home; a plum-pudding decorated with sprigs of holly; two great cakes, one filled with raisins, the other with nuts; besides many presents for the boys, and boxes of cigars, warm gloves and caps for Ben and the trapper. Then they found some tobacco and a pipe, and immediately presented them to Pete, who seemed much pleased. Nor was Moze forgotten, for lying in the very bottom of the box was a handsome collar with his name engraved on the metal plate.

When they had finished distributing the presents, Ben brought several bags and bundles from beneath his bunk. When he had opened them, he gave each of the boys a pair of moccasins and a serviceable bone-handle hunting-knife. He also produced a box of cigars for Bill, and a pair of fleece-lined mittens for Pete.

Then Bill opened his pack of pelts and gave George the lynx-skin and Ed a handsome fox-skin.

“This is the greatest Christmas ever!” declared Ed.

“You bet!” agreed George.

Indian Pete had gone outside during the presentation of gifts, and they were afraid he felt badly because he had nothing to offer. However, he soon returned with the deer on his shoulder. With great dignity he dropped it to the floor.

“Chrismus, all--everyone!” he said. “Plenty eat, all.” And he laughed and made them understand by gestures that they were to accept of the deer as his offering.

“That’s the best of the lot, Pete!” declared Ben, grasping the Indian by the hand. “We’ll have a big feast.”

Ben and Pete were greatly interested in the pelt of the silver fox, and they congratulated Bill on his good-fortune.

“This sure is a prosperous Christmas for you, Bill; that skin is worth a pile of money back in the settlement. When I was in I heard them telling that the price of fur had gone ’way up. I’m powerful glad you got it,” said the guide.

Bill made no reply, but looked much pleased as he fingered the valuable prize admiringly. He pulled his furs, flesh side out, on stretching-boards which Ben offered for his use.

After breakfast the boys cut a small balsam, which they set up in the cabin for a Christmas tree. Ben decorated the branches with popcorn, candies, and cakes which he had brought from town, and the lads added some fancy ornaments which had come in their gift-box.

“Snow Ball” was freed from his log cage and placed on his perch. Immediately he and Moze became eager to resume hostilities, but they were promptly warned that it was no day for ill feeling. Finally, to keep peace in the family, the hound was banished out-of-doors.

Later on the boys proposed a shooting contest in honor of the day. The others agreed, and Ben drew a target on a piece of white cardboard. He tacked it up on a near-by tree, and the shooters went outside to compete in the “championship” contest.

They drew to see who would shoot first. It happened that Ed drew first shot, Bill second, George third, Pete fourth, and Ben last. It was agreed that they would shoot three shots apiece at each of three different targets. The first was to be the nearer and larger, the second farther away and smaller, and the third some difficult fancy shot. Each contestant agreed to use his own rifle and fire without a rest or brace.

Ed led off and gained applause by scoring an outer “bull” and two inner circles. Bill followed with two “bulls,” a center and an outer, and an inner circle. The best George could do was three inner circles, close to the “bull.” Pete got three straight “bull’s-eyes”; and Ben tied his score.

The second target was half as large as the first, and twice as far away. Ed got two outer rings and a miss. Bill got two more “bulls” and an outer ring. George retrieved himself by getting a center “bull” and two ringers. Again Pete made three “bulls”; and again Ben equaled the score.

Then they cut circular bits of pasteboard the size of half-dollars, one for each shooter. Ed clipped the edge with one shot and missed with the others. Bill got a center and two edges. George tied Ed’s tally. Pete put three in the center of the little circle; and Ben did likewise.

“Well, I guess you and Pete can fight it out,” laughed Bill, turning to the guide.

“Yes, shoot it off!” urged the boys.

Ben fastened a card, edge toward him, in a seam of the bark. Then he looked smilingly at Pete. The latter at once signified his willingness to shoot at the difficult mark, and the contest began.

The guide’s first shot cut the card in two, and the boys cheered wildly. A new target was set in place, and he repeated the feat. A third card had the corner torn by his last bullet.

Then Pete stepped forward and drew careful aim on the edge of the tiny target. His first shot missed by the merest fraction, and he turned toward his audience and smiled. The second bullet cut the card squarely in the middle, and he was roundly cheered by the impartial company. His final shot clipped the top. Pete laughed and shook his head. Ben had bested him.

“Eyes too old, maybe,” he said, modestly, as victor and vanquished clasped hands.

“Not a bit of it,” said the guide, gallantly. “It just happened that I had a little better luck. It might come out just the other way another time.”

Ben then fastened one of the small bits of cardboard on a tree, and, placing his rifle upside down on top of his head, he sent a bullet through the center.

“You’ll have to join a show, if you keep that up,” Bill laughed.

The boys asked Pete to tell them more about the Indians, but could not induce him to talk. They finally appealed to Ben.

“Tell you what to do, Pete,” he said; “show these fellows how to build a wigwam.”

The old Indian smiled at his friend, and, taking up his ax strode from the cabin, followed by Ed and George. Once outside, he quickly selected and cut three straight saplings. Trimming off the branches, he placed the poles on the ground with their tops together. Deftly twisting a strip of bark, he made it into a rope and fastened the ends of the poles one to the other. Then he raised them. He stood other poles between, forcing the tops beneath the bark rope, and soon had the framework of the wigwam completed. The foot of each pole was thrust into the ground to prevent the abode from tumbling down in a high wind. Pete left an open space in front for a doorway. In place of the birch-bark, which he explained was generally used by his people for the same purpose, he took a blanket and wrapped it about the bare poles to make a shelter. At the top of the wigwam he left an opening to let the smoke out. He explained that a covering was always provided for this opening, to keep out rain or snow.

Indian Pete also showed them many simple signs used by his people to communicate with one another when traveling through the forest. He showed how to turn a twig, or branch, so that it would point in the direction taken by the one who had left the signal. The Indian also showed how, by breaking a stick into long or short pieces, he could advise his followers as to the length of journey he had undertaken. He cut a piece of bark from a tree-trunk and made many queer drawings on it. These were carefully explained to the boys, so that they could read the Indian message it contained. They also had explained to them the art of making bows and arrows, the scraping and tanning of furs and skins, and other bits of woodcraft, and half the day was gone before they realized it.

Ben had meanwhile placed the turkey in the oven to warm.

“Say, just smell that!” he cried, patting himself. Then, with a quick glance at Pete, he added: “We’ll have this bird for dinner, and a big stew of Pete’s deer-meat to top it off. My, I don’t believe I’ll be able to eat again for a week after we get through with this feast.”

Everybody seemed to be in high spirits as they took their places for the Christmas dinner. While they were eating it began to snow, and soon big, broad flakes were coming down in swirling thousands.

“This is a real Christmas,” declared Ed, looking out at the storm.

“Looks like we might be in for a big snow,” said Ben, pausing with a leg-bone of the turkey between his fingers.

“Let her come, we’re here first!” laughed Bill; and the boys were glad to see the trapper so jolly, for they feared that the day held gloomy memories for him.

When the meal was finally over, a large plate of food was given to Moze, and he promptly stretched out before the stove and proceeded to enjoy it.

In the afternoon Pete and Bill decided to go out in spite of the storm. Armed with their rifles, they left the cabin and disappeared in the woods.

This was what the boys had been waiting for. As soon as the trapper and the Indian had gone they asked Ben to tell them why Bill acted so strangely about Christmas.

For a time the guide looked at them in silence. Then he decided to tell the story.

“You see, several years ago Bill had a trapping partner by the name of Tom Welsh,” he began. “‘Big Tom,’ we called him, because of his size and strength. He and Bill trapped ’way up north of here, around what was then called Bad Pond. It got its name because it was usually rough and dangerous for a canoe in summer and full of treacherous, snow-covered air-holes in winter.

“One season Bill and ‘Big Tom’ built a little cabin near this pond, and decided to spend the winter trapping around the shores. There was a lot of fur to be taken there, and they figured on a great catch by the time spring came.

“Christmas day they were crossing on the ice, and they got to skylarking and fooling. Then they began to wrestle, and Bill tripped ‘Big Tom,’ and he lost his footing and plunged head first into an air-hole which neither of them had seen.

“Seeing that his friend didn’t come up, Bill lay down and peered into the opening, shouting and reaching into the cold, black water. You see, he knew ‘Big Tom’ had bobbed up under the edge of the ice and was probably swimming away from the opening.

“Well, poor Bill was near crazy, and in his excitement he went into the hole himself. He, too, came up under the ice, but near the edge of the hole, and was clutched by the collar and yanked out.

“When Bill blinked the water out of his eyes he saw Indian Pete. The Indian had been watching the trappers from shore. When Tom went down he started toward them on a run. Bill hadn’t noticed him coming over the ice, on account of his mind being on the fate of his friend. You see, if it hadn’t been for Pete, both partners would have drowned, ’cause Bill was dazed when he came up. Like as not he’d have swum back under the ice same as poor Tom did; but the Indian was watching and nabbed him quick as he appeared near the opening.” Ben finished amid an impressive silence.

“Did they get ‘Big Tom’--after awhile?” asked Ed, in a low tone.

“Yes,” replied Ben, soberly. “Listen! That’s Moze, all right; he’s got something started!” he cried, evidently glad at the opportunity of changing the subject.

Then for some time they heard the voice of the hound ringing through the forest. The flakes came down thicker and faster each succeeding hour, and a piercing northwest wind tore through the woods and piled the snow into huge drifts.

“Looks a little like the makings of a blizzard,” said Ben, going to the door.

“I hope they get back all right.” And George looked from the window a bit uneasily.

“Don’t you worry about them,” laughed the guide.

As the storm increased steadily in volume and the afternoon wore on, the boys went to the door many times to listen. They remembered what their own experience had been in a storm not half so bad; and, though they had implicit confidence in the ability of Bill and Pete to take care of themselves, they were anxious for them to return.

Hardly had they resumed their seats the last time when the door opened and Pete came into the room. He was covered with snow, and began shaking himself vigorously.

“See anything special?” inquired Ben.

“Plenty dog tracks. Run moose all time in big snow--bad!” said the Indian, shaking his head.

“That’s the pack of wild ones, I’ll bet!” declared Ben, straightening up with a show of interest.

Pete nodded in the affirmative.

“Well, we’ve got to go after them, or there won’t be any game left in this part of the country,” and the guide scowled.

Again Pete nodded solemnly.

It was almost dark, and still Bill and Moze did not make their appearance. Several times the boys caught Ben listening and glancing out of the window, they thought, a bit uneasily.

Then they heard Moze whining at the door, and a moment later Bill opened it and came in.

“Kind of dusty out,” he laughed, brushing the flakes from his broad shoulders.

“What did you see?” asked Ed, eagerly.

“The pack of wild dogs!” replied Bill, looking at Ben.

“Get a shot at them?” inquired the guide.

“No, they were too far away. I tell you, there’s a bunch of them. Must be twenty-five or thirty.”

“Tell us about them,” urged the boys.

“Wait till after supper; I’m hungry as a bear.”

“Well, sit down, then; it’s ready,” announced Ben.

Afterward Bill told how he had seen the wild pack racing along a valley, on the hot scent of some animal. He had worked his way down the mountain on which he had been hunting, and had followed the dog tracks for quite a distance. The trapper had learned that the wolf-like hunters were chasing a deer--a doe. As the trail gave every indication of a long chase, he left it and came back to the cabin.

“This storm will cover up their trail, so that I don’t suppose there’ll be any use looking for them to-morrow. When I hear them again, though, I’m going after them,” declared Ben. “They’ve got to be driven out of here, or they’ll kill everything in the woods.”

The boys renewed their pleas to be taken on the expedition, and were so persistent that Ben finally agreed to take them.

The balance of the evening was passed playing games and telling stories, till a glance at the clock showed the lateness of the hour.

Rising, Ben went to the door and looked out. Then he called for the others to join him. Standing there, the snow blowing into their faces, they heard the distant baying of the wild dogs.

“They’re like wolves,” declared Bill.

“Worse,” agreed Ben; and he closed and bolted the door.

XVIII AN ENCOUNTER WITH WILD DOGS

“Snowshoes for a while,” prophesied Ben, looking out at the freshly whitened landscape next morning.

“I’m glad I brought mine,” said Bill.

“You and Pete had better stay here with us another day, and give the drifts a chance to settle some,” Ben invited.

The boys were equally anxious to have two such interesting characters remain, and they urgently seconded the invitation. Pete promptly declined it and made known his intention of departing immediately after breakfast. Bill said that he, too, would leave then. He was anxious to reach the settlement with his furs, and, as he had a long, hard trip before him, was eager to be off.

The morning meal was hurried, that they might make an early start. When it was finished, Bill and Pete began tying on the broad, round snowshoes. Each helped the other to get his pack on his back. Then they bade farewell to their host and the boys and departed on different routes. The Indian turned toward the north and his far-away cabin. The trapper started east toward the distant settlement, where he hoped to dispose of his furs and bank the proceeds.

Ed and George stood in the doorway and watched the two sturdy figures disappear. They hoped to see the trapper again, for he would stop on the return journey to his cabin. But Indian Pete they would probably never again meet, and it was with deep regret they watched his straight form vanish from sight among the trees. True to the custom of his race, he refrained from looking back, even though the lads called to him several times.

Moze returned for a final caress, and seemed greatly to enjoy plowing his way through the deep snow. Bill whistled to him, and then turned and waved his hand to the little group of friends in the doorway.

“Well, there’s one person glad they’re gone,” said Ben, when he and the boys had entered the cabin.

The lads looked at him in surprise and asked who it might be.