Part 13

“Old ‘Snow Ball,’” he replied, as he released the owl from its cage.

It walked about the floor of the room, and constantly turned its head, as though fearful that Moze was still somewhere in the vicinity. Ben finally picked it up and put it on the perch, where it seemed more at ease.

“He’ll soon be able to fly, and then I’m afraid it will be good-by to us.”

“Suppose we let him go. We can keep him till spring, and then he’ll go north; so he won’t do much damage to the game about here. I just hate to think that he’s a prisoner. Since I’ve been here with you, Ben, I feel differently about all such things,” declared Ed.

“That’s exactly the way I feel,” added George, “and I would like to see him freed.”

“Well, boys, that’s my idea, too; so the jury will give old ‘Snow Ball’ a verdict in his favor, and turn him loose with the understanding that he’s to quit the country.”

The owl turned his big yellow eyes on them and gave himself one or two vigorous shakes, as though the matter was of little importance, since he had found so good a home.

“I would like to get some pictures before all the snow falls from the trees,” said Ed.

“All right, son; we’ll put on our webs”--Ben’s name for snowshoes--“and go out for a look around.”

“I wouldn’t wonder but what we might find a moose or a deer mired in one of the heavy drifts. If we do, you’ll get a picture worth having,” declared Ben, when they were traveling easily along on their snowshoes.

They saw few tracks, and the guide said the forest creatures had “lain low” during the storm, and would continue to do so until the snow settled or crusted over. Deer and moose, he explained, remained in their “yards” at such times--places similar to the one where the birches were stripped. In such spots, Ben said, these animals trod down and scraped away the snow to obtain the scant food-supply buried beneath. He told the boys that if the animals were driven from these shelters before the snow was sufficiently solid to support them, especially the moose, they would soon become exhausted by the heavy going and fall easy and helpless prey to whatever foe cared to pursue them.

“That’s the way the timber wolves used to kill off quantities of game. They would hunt up a yard of deer or moose, and dash in quickly and scatter them. Then it was an easy task for them to run down the heavier animals in the deep drifts. When they had overtaken a moose helpless in snow above its shoulders, they closed in and tore it to pieces.”

“Listen!” cried George. “What’s that?”

“There they are!” declared Ben. “Just what I expected. They’re doing exactly what I’ve told you about. Wait till we see which way they’re going.”

Standing beneath the snow-burdened evergreens, they heard the ringing cry of the wild hunting pack. It echoed through the woods, now clear and distinct, and again faint and far away, as the hounds topped a rise or descended into an intervening valley.

“Isn’t that the direction Pete went?” inquired Ed, rather uneasily.

“Yes; and if he hasn’t passed, they ought to run right across his trail,” replied Ben, listening intently.

Then the report of a rifle rang sharply through the forest. Another shot quickly followed, and then two more, with scarce a pause between them.

“Come on!” cried Ben, making off at top speed. “The fight’s on; Pete has run into them, sure!”

As they hurried along they noticed that the noise from the pack had subsided. Ben led them toward the spot where they had last heard the wild baying. Soon they came to Pete’s trail, and the guide at once turned into it.

Again the noise sounded forth, this time to the left of the trail they were following. Ben held to his course, however, believing it would bring them to Pete and the pack sooner than he could go by forsaking it.

Hot and panting in their rapid pace, they finally came to the spot where the Indian had his chance at the pack. The trailers saw where he had jumped behind a small hemlock, to hide, when he heard the outlaw band approaching. About fifty yards farther along the dogs had crossed, and two great black hounds lay dead on the snow.

Ben and the boys stopped for a moment to examine them, and were surprised at their resemblance to wolves. There was no evidence of a battle, and the guide thought Pete had despatched the dogs from ambush.

Carefully examining the trail of the fleeing pack, Ben learned they were in pursuit of a bull moose, a small one, probably a yearling. He found numerous red spots on the snow, and believed that Pete had hit others than the hounds whose bodies bore evidence of his prowess.

“We’ll follow them a ways,” he said. “Pete’s gone on their track, and maybe we’ll get a chance at them.”

The snow was not particularly deep, and the moose seemed well able to maintain a safe lead. But sooner or later it was certain to be forced into deeper going, and its doom would then be sealed.

They reached a spot where Pete had turned from the main tracks to follow a hound he had wounded. Its blood-stained trail showed plainly by the side of his snowshoe tracks.

They could hear the baying of the pack directly ahead, in the bottom of a wooded valley. Ben said they would follow on the original trail in the hope of catching up with the dogs, should the moose sink in the snow.

The boys’ legs commenced to ache, for they were straining them to the utmost in their endeavors to keep up with Ben. He seemed determined to come in sight of the pack at any cost, and hurried on at a heartbreaking pace.

“Wonder what will happen when we corner them?” inquired Ed, between gasps.

“Don’t know; but I’ll have to stay and see, ’cause I’m too blamed tired to run,” replied George.

“They’ve brought him to a stand!” yelled Ben, excitedly, at the same time quickening his gait. “Hear the way they’re howling and snarling down there! Come on, boys, let’s sail into them!” And the guide went racing down the hillside.

The lads followed as best they could, and took several “headers” in the course of their uncertain journey. They arrived in the ravine breathless and shaky. The snow was very deep, and they saw where the moose had floundered with difficulty through the mound-like drifts. At one place the pack had surrounded him, as could be seen by the tracks; but he had freed himself and staggered to the spot where they now appeared to have him at their mercy.

Then the boys saw Ben raise his rifle. He shot twice.

“Here they are!” he cried. “Look out! They’re going to show fight.”

The lads made their way quickly to his side, and before them saw the moose in snow to its withers. In a circle about it, on top of the light crust, sat twenty or more snapping, wolf-like hounds.

They had turned from their victim, and were boldly facing the hunters. Two of their number lay dead. They had started toward Ben, and met a swift and timely death at his hands. Their fate seemed to restrain the pack, for the moment at least, though the defiant brutes showed no desire to be gone.

“Oh, wait till I get a picture!” begged Ed; and he quickly unstrapped and focused his camera. With the click of the shutter things began to happen, and for the next few minutes the boys experienced all the thrills of a Siberian wolf-hunt.

The moose renewed its efforts to extricate itself, and immediately several of the hounds dashed forward to sink their fangs in its throat. Instantly Ben opened fire, at the same time calling on the lads to do likewise.

It was then that the savage, half-wild dogs seemed to realize their danger. As several of them writhed over the snow in their death-struggles the remainder of the band, under the leadership of a great gray animal, rushed at the hunters.

“Watch out; here they come!” warned the guide, firing as fast as he could work the lever of his rifle. “Stand close beside me and fire at the front ones!”

Snarling and snapping, the pack surrounded Ben and the boys. It was no simple task to kill the beasts, for they kept moving about in a circle, and, as the ravine was heavily timbered, the trees constantly interfered with the aim of the shooters. Sneaking and crouching, the dogs began to close in.

“Stand your ground if they try to rush us!” commanded Ben, dropping one of the leaders with a well-placed bullet.

Evidently the hounds had at last determined the sort of enemy confronting them, and, with lips drawn back and fangs exposed, they charged in a body.

The hunters met them with a deadly volley which stretched out several of their number. The gray leader, a big, wolf-like Eskimo dog, escaped the hail of lead and leaped straight at the throat of Ben. The guide had no chance to shoot, but quickly clubbed his rifle and brought the stock down with terrific force on the head of his assailant. The blow felled the creature, and it rolled away behind a massive tree-trunk and slunk off as three hastily aimed bullets whistled harmlessly past its head.

Suddenly Ed uttered a startled cry, and Ben turned quickly in his direction. A powerful hound had crept up behind him, and, leaping, had fastened its fangs in the shoulder of the lad’s heavy hunting-coat and borne him to the ground.

Ben sent a bullet into its body before it could release its grip to fasten a more deadly one on the throat of the startled young hunter.

“Jump up, quick!” yelled the guide.

Encouraged by the apparent success of one of their number, the pack again came on. Once more the fierce gray leader stole forward; but this time a ball from George’s rifle stretched him out dead, shot through his heart.

“Good boy!” shouted Ben. “You’ve got the prize.”

Then another rifle sounded close beside them, and, turning, they saw Indian Pete shooting into the hesitating, disorganized pack of bewildered dogs.

“That’s right, give it to them, Pete; let’s clean them all up at once!” cried Ben, savagely.

Lacking the encouragement of the gray leader, the pack turned and began a slow, sullen retreat. Pete and the guide instantly followed, determined to kill as many of its members as possible, now that they had the longed-for opportunity. But the survivors of the savage band, finding they were pursued, instantly lost confidence and, panic-stricken, dashed away, howling dismally.

When they had disappeared, the hunters took account of the casualties. They found, by adding the ones Pete had killed back on the trail, that they had despatched fourteen of the outlaws, including the leader. This was the big, wolf-like creature Ben had told of, and George was greatly elated at obtaining the chance to kill it.

“Well, we destroyed more than half the pack,” declared Ben, enthusiastically, “and I guess the rest of them will hike for a safer country.”

Meantime they had turned their attention to the moose, and the boys obtained many excellent photographs of it. Free from the attacks of the hounds, it began to force its way through the drift into which it had plunged in its wild panic.

“Can’t we help him any?” asked George.

“No, sir! Stay away from him and keep near me. He’s mad, and there’s no telling what may happen when he frees himself,” cautioned the guide.

When the moose finally emerged from the drift, Pete was the nearer to it. Without hesitating a moment, the excited animal lowered its head and charged the astounded Indian. He jumped nimbly from its path and sought shelter behind the first convenient tree.

Not satisfied to be off, the moose wheeled and came straight at Ben and the boys, who promptly scattered and ran, or tried to, through the deep snow. It missed George by a very narrow margin, and then turned and stood facing them with bristling mane, blazing eyes, and curled lip, ready for another charge. The unusual performance had ceased to be a joke, and, fearful that some one would be hurt, Ben fired two shots over its head. They had the effect of bringing the maddened creature to its senses, and with a loud snort it trotted heavily away, unharmed, for at that season these great beasts were protected by law.

“Say, we’ve had some little excitement,” laughed Ben, looking about for a place to sit down.

“I should say so,” agreed Ed, feeling the tear in his coat.

George went over to Indian Pete, who was examining the powerful, grizzled body of the dead leader. The young hunter was much pleased when Pete said he had done well to kill it.

“How many do you think were in the pack?” inquired Ben.

The Indian held up his ten fingers twice, and then five.

“Count them, plenty times,” he said.

“Did you get the one you left the trail for?” asked the guide.

Pete gave one of his customary nods in the affirmative.

“I thought so,” said Ben to the boys. “An Indian usually gets what he starts after.”

Pete soon left to resume the long journey to his cabin. They watched him climb the mountain, expecting that he might look back when he reached the summit. He did not turn, however, but went stolidly on, and disappeared from sight over the top.

“He’s a queer old fellow, but I like him,” said Ed.

“So do I,” declared George.

“He’s all right; a little peculiar, that’s all,” Ben assured them.

George wished the pelt of the Eskimo dog for a trophy, and when Ben started to skin it he had the boys help him. He said it would do them no harm to learn how. The job was quickly accomplished, and the pelt was rolled into a bundle and given to George. He slung it proudly on his back. Then they set out for the cabin, Ben in great spirits over his success in practically wiping out this band of outlaws.

That night they listened in vain for the noise of distant baying. Once they thought they heard it far to the south, but were unable to make sure.

Before they fell asleep, Ed poked George in the ribs and said: “I felt we were going to have trouble with that pack, all along. I’m glad it’s over now.”

“So am I,” replied George. “And to think I’ve actually killed the leader; and in a fight, too!” he added. “I believe they are all more wolf than dog.”

“I’m sure the one that knocked me down was,” said Ed.

XIX AN INDIAN CAVE AND ITS OCCUPANTS

By January the boys had learned much about the woods and the wild creatures inhabiting them. They had also mastered most of the essential tricks of woodcraft, and Ben said they were graduated from the “tenderfoot” class with high honors. While there was no chance for any “official” examination, they were certainly qualified for “Boy Scout” honors by an actual experience in woodcraft, which few “scouts” can have.

They often made unaccompanied trips into the wilderness, and it was while on one of these journeys that they chanced to discover what seemed to be a large cave partly overgrown by bushes and completely blocked by drifted snow. Their attention was drawn to it by a tunnel-like hole through the drift. Poking into this with a long pole, they were surprised to find that the opening extended back some distance. They immediately scooped away the snow, and there, sure enough, was a great black hole--seemingly the entrance into the heart of the rocky cliff which towered above them.

They had never heard Ben speak of the place, and thought it strange, if a cave was really there, that he had not discovered it. Lighting a match--for Ben had long ago impressed upon them the necessity of always carrying several boxes when starting into the woods--Ed held it before him and crawled several feet into the opening. The match went out, and he lighted another and held it above his head, so that its light would not blind him. Taking advantage of the short-lived flame, he glanced quickly about. He saw that he was in a low, narrow passageway between two smooth walls of lichen-covered rock. This passageway apparently continued for some distance over a sort of loose shale-like trail. The young explorer wriggled a few feet farther in, but was at once urged to return by his anxious companion outside.

“I tell you this is a great find!” he cried, excitedly, when he had backed slowly out into daylight again. “We’ll explore it. I believe it runs ’way back into the mountain.”

“All right, only we must be careful,” warned George; “it may drop away into a pool or something. Say, suppose there’s a wildcat or a bear up in there!”

“So much the better,” laughed Ed. “We’ve met them both before, so they wouldn’t frighten us any. Tell you what we’ll do. When we go back we won’t say anything about it to Ben; we’ll keep it a secret. Then to-morrow we can bring a rope and some candles. I’ll tie the rope around my waist and crawl in. If I get stuck you can pull me out.”

“That’s a good idea; we’ll try it,” agreed George.

When they reached the cabin they said nothing about their find. They asked no questions which might betray their secret. When Ben said he might go over to see Tom Westbrook the following day, the boys looked at each other and winked. They politely refused an invitation to accompany him, on the plea that they had found something they wished to visit again. Ben smiled, but asked no questions.

Next morning, as soon as Ben had gone, they took a long length of rope, several candles, and a supply of matches, and started for the scene of their discovery. They also carried their rifles, for, as George had said, there was no telling what they might find at the end of the dark tunnel.

Eagerness gave speed to their feet, and they were soon before the entrance into the ledge. Ed shed his heavy hunting-coat, and tied the rope securely about his waist. Then he fastened one of the candles to the end of a long pole. He cautioned George to keep tight hold of the rope, and crawled boldly into the black opening.

Lest his friend might plunge over the edge of some hidden precipice and pull the rope out of his hands, George prudently took a turn of it around a near-by tree. Then, with a warning to be careful, he began letting out line, an inch at a time, as Ed wriggled into the inky depths of the unknown interior.

The rope went steadily into the hole, and George knew that his comrade was making easy progress. Then it stopped, and he became somewhat worried. Suppose it had become untied and had slipped from Ed’s waist!

George drew it gently toward him and, when he had taken up the slack, felt the weight of his friend at the other end. Then he slackened it, but the coil lay there, and the rope was motionless! Something was wrong! He waited a minute longer, and was about to pull with all his might in an effort to extricate Ed from any difficulty he might have got into, when again the rope began to slip forward into the cave.

Ed had found, as he advanced, that the passageway widened. He crawled slowly on, pausing now and then to hold the candle well out in front, so that he could see his path and safeguard himself against accident. The passage continued in a direct line; and, as he was already some distance in, Ed began to wonder if he would come to the end of his rope before he reached the end of the tunnel. If he did, he determined to cast loose and go on, for, now he had started, the lad made up his mind to find out where this dark alleyway led and what was at the end of it.

He was glad to find that the passage continued to broaden, for this promised him safe and easy return. Furthermore, should he suddenly find himself confronted by a wild beast, he would have room to use his rifle. Also he was able to make swifter progress, and he was anxious to reach the end of his journey and learn what awaited him there. The air began to grow close and stifling as he got farther in, and several times he felt a bit dizzy.

At last he came to the end of the rope, and felt it tighten and hold him back. Pushing the candle far in advance, he saw close at hand a circular cavern. Evidently the passage ended there. Ed determined to find out, and, reaching his arms around behind him, he untied the rope from his waist. Then, cautiously, he crawled forward toward the mysterious underground chamber.

When he finally crept into this large rock-bound room, Ed was surprised to find that he was able to stand erect. Even by raising himself on his toes and stretching his arms aloft he could not reach within several inches of the rocky ceiling. The place seemed to have no other occupant than himself; and, assured on that point, the lad set about to examine it carefully. Suddenly he exclaimed, for, as he turned, the light of his candle brought out some strange signs on the walls.

Chiseled, or nicked, into the solid rock were strange figures and hieroglyphics, or picture-writings. Ed began to trace them with the tips of his fingers in an endeavor to make them out. There were many drawings or tracings of arrows. Again there were rude sketches of hands and feet. Then there were figures presumably intended to represent different birds and animals. All these were separated one from another by a series of straight and wavy lines.

Most of the drawings were over to one side of the cavern. From what he had read, Ed believed them to be the work of long-departed tribes of Indians. No doubt they had made use of this cave, and to reach it had wormed their way, as he had just done, through the dark, narrow passageway. The thought of it thrilled him, and he gave a half-startled, involuntary glance about the dimly lighted chamber, as though fearful that some of the prehistoric picture-makers still lurked in its shadows.

What he saw caused him to cry out in horror. He staggered back against the wall, his eyes fixed on the gruesome object before him. There, on the ground and but a few feet away, sat a whitened human skeleton, its back against the rough wall.

For a moment the shock of his startling discovery completely unnerved him. He dropped the pole, and his candle went out. Even in the inky blackness which followed, the lad could see, all too vividly, a vision of that awful thing against the wall.

Panic-stricken, Ed sank to his knees and began to crawl frantically toward the passageway. His breath came in quick gasps, and the air of the place suddenly became suffocating. If only he could find the entrance to the tunnel and escape! That was his one thought as he scrambled hurriedly along in the darkness. It seemed as though he had gone a much longer distance than necessary, and he knew he must have passed by it. Suppose he had branched off into some other alcove of the cave and lost himself! The possibility sickened him, and he halted irresolutely.

Then the lad recalled that in his wild, unreasoning fright he had left his pole and candle somewhere behind him. He remembered the box of matches, and brought it from his pocket with violently trembling fingers and tried to light one. For some time he was unable to do so, owing to his excitement.

At last one of the sulphur-tipped slivers blazed up. Sheltering the tiny flame with his quaking palms, Ed endeavored to peer about by aid of its flickering glow. The match dropped from his nerveless fingers, and he uttered an agonized groan, for there, within arm’s reach of him, lay another appalling white specter!

For a minute or so he was unable to move, and he sat nervously wiping the perspiration from his brow. Then once more he made an effort to escape from the tomb-like prison. Lighting many matches, he at last found his way to a side wall. Keeping within touching distance, he began to follow it along, hopeful in that way sooner or later to find the mouth of the opening through which he had come.

After he had followed the smooth rock wall for a long time without coming to the outlet, Ed began to fear he had wandered from the original chamber. If he had, he realized the improbability of ever being able to find his way back. He used up many precious matches in a vain endeavor to locate himself. Then he decided to hoard the balance of his supply for use later on. Once his hand, stretched forth in the darkness, came in contact with something smooth and hard, and he drew back with a shudder--it felt like a human bone!