Part 5

Ben crawled up and helped them down, and they staggered feebly into the smoke-filled room below. Neither could see, and Bill and the guide brought fresh cold water and put wet cloths over their aching eyes. They could still hear the fire raging in the distance, and weakly asked if it might come back. Ben hastily assured them that this was impossible. Gradually they were able to open their eyes, and the woodsman led them to the lake, where the air was somewhat clearer. The ground felt hot to their feet, and on every side were black, charred tree-trunks and glowing stumps.

Ben and the trapper were also burned and blistered, but made slight of their ills; and, following their splendid example, the boys soon declared that they, too, were all right.

The fire burned fiercely around the shores of the lake, and the weary group of fighters sat in awesome silence and watched it vent its wrath. The flames were reflected in the water, and George declared it looked as if the whole world was afire, water and all. They saw great flame-wrapped trees topple and fall hissing into the lake.

A deer, driven out by the approaching flames, jumped into the lake from the opposite shore and swam directly toward them. The boys wondered if it was the same one they had seen during the fire. The startled creature emerged within a rod of them and staggered away in the blackness.

They remained there until the fire, having completely circled the lake, came together at the lower end. Joining forces, it swept up the side and over the top of an adjoining ridge.

“Nothing to stop it for a hundred miles,” said Bill, sadly.

“Nothing,” added Ben, stooping to cool his fevered face in the water at his feet.

They went solemnly back to the cabin, where they found Moze sound asleep under one of the bunks.

“Don’t seem to bother him much,” laughed Bill.

The air was still densely laden with smoke, but it began to clear when the wind freshened. Ben said they had better go to bed. The boys tossed about for a long time, unable to close their eyes without causing severe pain. Ben and Bill were equally restless, and only Moze seemed able to slumber peacefully.

VI AN INTERESTING AFTERNOON

The boys slept late the next morning. When they did finally open their smarting eyes, the sunlight was streaming through the cabin windows. They ate a tardy breakfast which the guide had saved for them, and then went outside to see the damage done by the fire.

Everything was black--tree-trunks, stumps, even the ground. Sticks and twigs lying among the rocks the day before were now rows of gray ashes. The rocks themselves were seamed and cracked from the terrific heat that had passed over them. The foliage of the evergreens was seared and brown. Altogether, it was a scene of desolation.

“Might have been worse,” Bill declared, after he had carefully inspected many of the scorched tree-trunks.

“Yes, I don’t believe it hurt the big timber much,” replied Ben; “it went through too fast.”

The boys thought that for this very reason the fire should have been the more destructive. Ben then carefully explained that the slow-traveling fire, working its way tediously against the wind, or along some sheltered valley, invariably did the most damage. He said that, on account of its very slowness, that type of fire burned everything in its path. On the other hand, the wind-swept flames traveling through at railroad speed very often only scorched the foliage, and were driven on before they had a chance to eat their way into the trees.

Toward noon a fresh breeze came down out of the northwest and drove away most of the smoke. A flock of ducks came with it and alighted in the lake; but it was Sunday, and the lads were not hunting.

At dinner the boys were much pleased when Ben promised to take them on a canoe trip the following day. He said they would go to the beaver-dam, where they might see some of those wonderful animals at work. They listened eagerly while he told how the beavers felled trees, which they cut into proper lengths and floated to the spot chosen for their dam. Ben also promised that they might do some shooting on the way.

Later in the day the boys accompanied Bill down to the shore of the lake. There they saw the flock of ducks floating quietly on the water in a sunny cove some little distance away.

The trapper asked Ed if he would like to try a snap-shot at them, and Ed ran to the cabin for his camera.

While he was gone Bill and George began to cut branches with which to trim and conceal the canoe.

These branches were skilfully piled in bow and stern, and draped over each side of the little craft, until it resembled a floating tree-top, or pile of brush. Once in their places, the occupants would be cleverly hidden from the wary birds.

By the time Ed returned, the job was completed, and Bill bade him take a position in the bow, where he could use the camera to best advantage. George was placed amidships, and the trapper knelt in the stern and paddled them toward the ducks. He sent the canoe gliding forward without once taking his paddle from the water, and the boys marveled at his skill.

As the mass of floating greens slowly approached them, the ducks seemed to become a bit uneasy. The stragglers at once swam in to join the balance of the flock, and soon the birds were compactly bunched. Gazing at the approaching object suspiciously, the leaders swam nervously about in contracted circles. Then the entire flock moved slowly away in advance of the canoe.

“Do you think they will fly?” whispered George, turning his face cautiously toward Bill.

The trapper shook his head negatively, and placed a finger across his lips as a warning to be still.

The flock was far out of camera-shot, and as they swam along, the drakes called querulously. To the surprise and delight of his companions, Bill immediately replied with a perfect imitation of their calls.

Somewhat reassured by his answer, the ducks halted and began to swim uncertainly to and fro, as they endeavored to identify the mysterious object which was bearing down upon them.

After a time, as Bill ceased paddling and allowed the canoe to drift toward them, urged on by the slight breeze, the birds became less apprehensive. They began plunging their heads beneath the water and splashing it over their backs. And from time to time, as their suspicions became allayed, they lifted their bodies from the water and flapped their wings like a barnyard rooster about to crow.

As the canoe came closer and closer to the unsuspecting flock the boys became impatient. Peering between the branches which shielded them, they could distinctly see the sheen on the plumage of the nearer drakes. With eager, trembling fingers Ed placed his camera in readiness for quick focusing.

At last he could see the birds like tiny specks in the finder, and he was relieved to know that he was actually within focusing range. He kept his gaze riveted on the little square of frosted glass, determined to push the lever and make the exposure, should the ducks rise.

Bill approached still closer. One or two stealthy paddle-strokes, and then he allowed the canoe to drift. So slowly and cautiously was his advance made that the ducks seemed to have lost all fear. No doubt they had mistaken the canoe for part of a floating tree-top. At any rate, Bill soon came within perfect focusing distance. Then, when Ed saw the entire flock plainly outlined in the center of the finder, he pressed the lever of his camera, and the exposure was made.

The click of the shutter was slight, but it had been sufficient to alarm the ducks. With loud, frightened calls they rose from the water, and Ed snapped an exposure of them in flight. Then, on whistling wings, they wheeled over the canoe and, towering higher and higher as they circled the lake, flew rapidly from sight over the distant tree-tops.

“Well, you got them without harming a feather,” laughed Bill, well pleased with his work.

“Yes, and I must thank you,” said Ed, gratefully. “It was wonderful--the way you worked up to them. I shall have some enlargements made from that negative and will send you one, if they’re good, Bill.”

“All right, my son, I’ll be glad to have it,” declared Bill. “Guess we won’t need all this browse around us any longer.” And he and the boys began throwing the branches overboard.

“What kind of ducks were they?” inquired George.

“Wood-ducks, the prettiest little ducks that swim,” replied Bill. “Funny, too; they usually build their nest in a hollow tree, and when the ducklings are hatched, carry them to the water in their bills.”

When the canoe was at last clear of branches the trapper paddled slowly up the lake, his keen eyes constantly alert for something interesting.

Suddenly he brought the canoe to a stop and nodded toward the forest.

“Look half-way up that hemlock, over in that open space,” he said, softly.

The boys heeded his warning, and saw a small black animal on one of the limbs. It seemed to be gnawing the bark, and was evidently entirely unaware of their approach.

“What is it?” asked Ed.

“Porcupine,” explained Bill.

“Can’t we go over to it?” pleaded George.

“We’ll try; I’d like you to see one close by,” and the trapper urged the canoe shoreward.

“‘What funny things you see when you haven’t got a gun,’” quoted Ed, laughing.

“And usually on Sunday,” added George, “when you couldn’t shoot if you had one.”

Bill handled the canoe carefully until he got it in line with a large tree, which shielded them from the sight of the porcupine. Then he dug his paddle hard into the water and sent the light craft toward the bank at top speed.

As the boys were scrambling hastily ashore, they heard a scratching of bark, followed by a peculiar, complaining sort of grunt, which apparently came from the direction of the hemlock.

“He’s climbing down! Hurry after him, he can’t run fast!” shouted Bill, as he jumped from the canoe.

When they came in sight of the tree, the boys saw the porcupine shuffling awkwardly along some distance ahead of them. Instantly they gave chase, with Bill close at their heels. When they overtook their quarry the lads suddenly halted and broke out into peals of laughter at the antics of the stupid creature before them. Finding itself unable to escape by direct flight, the clumsy animal had deliberately rolled itself into a sort of ball. And, as it lay helpless in the very path of its pursuers, there rose from its body a mass of sharply pointed yellow-tipped quills, or spines.

“Look out! Don’t touch it!” warned Bill.

“Why, what a strange-looking beast it is!” cried Ed, instantly focusing his camera.

“Looks like it was stuck full of hat-pins,” laughed George.

“It is, and you’ll be, too, if you touch it!” declared the trapper.

Then he began to prod it gently with his paddle. Quickly it straightened out and made a vicious swing at the ashen blade with its quill-filled tail.

“That’s the way he drives the darts into you. See them fall out each time he strikes the paddle?” said Bill.

The boys saw several quills fall to the ground every time the porcupine struck the paddle-blade with its tail.

Bill declared the creature a nuisance on account of its habit of stripping trees of their bark, which seemed to be its principal article of diet. And with this he began to look for a club; but the boys begged for mercy, and the porcupine’s life was spared him.

They remained for some time watching the queer creature, which turned its head slyly in their direction and blinked at them with little stupid eyes. Then, when they had withdrawn a few yards, the porcupine rose to its feet and resumed its laughable attempt at flight. The boys at once ran to the spot where it had been and gathered up the shed quills, which, after carefully examining, they fastened in their caps.

When they were again in the canoe, Bill told them that the porcupine would often come boldly into camp and destroy every piece of hide or leather it could find, as well as anything, even wood, on which there chanced to be a bit of grease. He added that few animals in the woods cared to attack the porcupine, unless forced to do so by a scarcity of food-supply and the pangs of hunger.

“You see, the quills get into their mouths and work down into their throats and stomachs. I’ve found lynxes which had starved to death on account of having their throats full of porcupine quills,” explained the trapper.

“Served them right for attacking so peaceful a citizen,” declared Ed, in defense of this abused animal.

“Not so fast, son, not so fast!” laughed Bill. “Now, just suppose you were on some island where you were starving. Then, suppose a miserable little mite of a fish came close to shore and stranded before your famished eyes. You’d be glad enough to grab him and eat him raw. Well, suppose after you’d swallowed him you found a hundred burning, piercing needles in your throat and tongue. Finally, suppose you staggered around for days in agony, trying to get them out, till you dropped and died in torture. Think you’d have deserved such an end just because you tried to keep the breath of life in your body?”

The boys were silent and thoughtful as Bill ceased speaking and paddled them slowly toward the cabin. They had changed their opinions of the starving lynxes.

When they landed at the little log dock, the lads turned and gazed for a long time out across the placid water at the beauty of the sunset scene.

In the west hung a mass of pearl-colored clouds whose ragged edges were tinged with shining gold. The upper rim of the setting sun was barely visible above a ridge of distant pines. The hush of closing day had fallen on the wilderness. Smooth and unruffled, like a mirror, the lake caught and reflected the changing tints of the evening sky. Then a thin, steam-like mist began to rise along its borders.

“Come on; time to go home,” called Bill.

That night the boys expressed a wish to go with the trapper on one of his expeditions. To their great joy Bill promptly agreed to take them before spring. He said he would show them how to set all kinds of traps and how to cure pelts.

Ben reminded them that Sunday was the proper day for letter-writing, and said it would be a fine chance to send word home, as Bill expected to start for town at daylight. The boys wrote enthusiastic accounts of their experiences since coming to the woods. Then they gave the letters to the care of the trapper, to be mailed at the far-off settlement. They thought it a very long walk for Bill to undertake, and told him so. He only laughed and replied that such distances were nothing “when your legs once get tuned to the trail.”

They turned in early, and, for the first time since their arrival, the boys failed to hear the flying squirrels scampering about above them. They spoke to Ben about it, and he said it had become too cold for the little night prowlers.

VII A VISIT TO THE BEAVERS

The boys were up early; but Bill and Moze had already gone. They ate breakfast by lamplight, a new experience. The guide explained that they had a long journey to make.

Daylight was just dawning when they took their places in the canoe and pushed from shore. Ben paddled leisurely down the lake, with Ed in the bow and George amidships. Ed had his shotgun across his knees, and George sat with his rifle by his side. They were armed for any sort of game. Ben paddled noiselessly. The young hunters sat quietly in their places, their eyes riveted on the shadowy shore-line, eager to see big game. Once a flock of crows flew noisily overhead. Again some squirrels barked far back in the forest. Otherwise all was still.

By the time the sun had climbed over the mountains, they had reached the end of the lake. Here they were obliged to make a portage to another body of water about a mile distant. They landed, pulled the canoe up on shore, and unloaded the guns and a few cooking utensils. George also carried the camera slung on a strap from his shoulder.

To the surprise of the boys, Ben hoisted the canoe on his shoulders and walked off with it. They fell in behind him in single file. Ed carried the two guns, and George the cooking things in a bag on his back.

There was a well-marked trail extending from the water, and Ben followed slowly along its winding course. He pointed to little square patches on the tree-trunks, from which the bark had been peeled. He said they were “blazes,” made to show the trail, especially in winter when the snow was deep.

A grouse rose and thundered away through the woods. Ben stopped and told Ed to put down the rifle and go ahead with the shotgun, for he believed other birds were hiding close by. He cautioned him to aim well in front if the birds flew crosswise, and several inches over the middle of their bodies if they went straight away.

Ed had barely taken five steps when another grouse rose, and flew directly from him. It was his first experience with these difficult targets, and he was rattled. Although he fired both barrels the bird went safely on its way.

“That’s all right,” laughed the guide; “put in two new shells quick.”

Ed slipped the shells into his gun and walked a few steps farther on, determined to make a better showing.

Whirr! A third grouse rose and chose the same course as the first.

“Now!” cried Ben, when the bird was in the proper alignment.

Bang! bang! went both shells, and Ed whooped triumphantly, for the grouse turned a somersault in the air and landed with a thud in the center of the trail lifeless.

“That’s better,” said Ben, encouragingly. “You’ll soon do as well with the gun as you do with the rifle.”

The boys ran forward eagerly and picked up the dead bird. They stroked its plumage admiringly, and Ed put it in the large rear pocket of his hunting-coat.

“Never mind, George, you’ll get a chance later on,” the guide promised.

They started on, and before they had gone far George evened the score by shooting a rabbit. Then they came out on the shore of a sparkling sheet of water which the boys thought too large to be called a pond. It spread out on either side to far-off wooded shores, and in front apparently stretched away for miles toward a range of purple mountains. Ben said that distance judged over water was very deceptive, and that it was not nearly so far to the end of the lake as it seemed. He added that he did not intend going that far, for they would turn aside to a brook which flowed through some swampy meadows where there was a beaver settlement.

They had hardly launched the canoe when Ed spied a great, dark bird with a white head and tail sitting on the naked limb of a dead pine. Ben declared it a bald eagle, and then he pointed overhead to another bird, somewhat smaller, soaring about in wide, swinging circles above the lake. He called it an osprey or fish-hawk. He said, if they sat motionless and watched closely, they might see the eagle rob it of its dinner. For some time they drifted quietly along while the osprey sailed about on motionless wings. Occasionally it uttered a shrill cry, which the guide explained was its hunting-call.

The eagle sat gloomily on its lofty perch, with feathers ruffled and head drawn down between its shoulders. The boys thought it showed little interest in the fish-hawk; but Ben assured them it was watching every move the latter made. He said it was just pretending to be half asleep.

Then the osprey, with folded wings, dove straight as an arrow to the water below, and disappeared with a loud splash which sent a cloud of spray into the air. A few seconds elapsed before the tips of its wings reappeared, and its body, wet and shining, came into view. It flapped and struggled furiously to rise. The guide thought it had fastened its claws in a monster fish.

After much effort it finally rose heavily from the lake, and they saw a large fish twisting about in the merciless grip of its talons. Slowly it mounted upward and flew laboriously toward the distant shore.

“Look at ‘Old Sleepy Head’ now!” laughed Ben, pointing at the eagle.

It had risen to its full height, stretched its neck, and spread its wings. Then with a wild scream it launched into space and flew at the osprey. The latter immediately turned and began to tower frantically skyward. The eagle, screaming fiercely, was close behind it. They circled higher and higher, while the little party in the canoe looked on.

At length the eagle made a savage swoop toward its victim, and the osprey dropped its finny prize and darted out of harm’s way. Like a thunderbolt from the sky the eagle pitched headlong after the falling fish, which it secured before it reached the water, and bore it proudly away.

“What do you think of that?” asked Ben.

“I feel sorry for the poor fish-hawk; but I wouldn’t have missed seeing the trick turned for anything,” Ed replied.

Farther on the boys saw what they believed to be a pair of ducks on the water. They asked Ben to turn the canoe so they might get a shot. He promptly did so, and Ed handed the shotgun to George. He took careful aim and pulled the trigger, and at the same instant, as it seemed, the birds vanished under water. Ben laughed heartily while they watched for the “ducks” to come up.

After some moments they reappeared, and Ben worked the canoe carefully toward them, that Ed might try a shot. He, too, took deliberate aim; but again the uncanny birds disappeared before the shot reached them. The guide, unable to control himself, shrieked with laughter.

The shooters, somewhat bewildered, asked what was the matter. He said they had been shooting at “hell-divers” or grebes, and declared they might shoot all day without hitting them. Ben told the boys that these little birds had deceived the best of shots.

The young marksmen were surprised to learn that grebes sometimes swim with only the tip of the bill above water. Also, they were told that the surest way to get one was to paddle after it when it came to the surface and force it to dive again. By repeatedly doing this they might finally “wind” the swimmer and get an easy shot. The guide added that it was not worth the trouble, as the flesh of the grebes was unfit to eat, being strongly impregnated with fish, which formed their sole diet. Consequently, the boys went on their way and left the grebes swimming serenely about in bold defiance of their marksmanship.

Ben later offered to show them an otter-slide, and turned the bow of the canoe toward land. He paddled silently along the near shore, which at this point rose to form a steep, moss-grown bank. Finally he stopped and pointed to a shallow gully, or chute, which extended from the top of the bank to the edge of the water. Close beside it, and parallel to it, was a narrow, winding trail. Ben explained that the larger depression was an otter-slide, which the makers used like a toboggan-run. The otters, lying on their stomachs, slid head foremost down the chute and into the water. The boys were told that the path at the side had been made by otters emerging from the lake and climbing the bank for another “header.”

Ed and George decided to get out and investigate. Ben beached the canoe and accompanied them. While they were examining the slide, he called, and they made their way to him, a short distance back in the woods.

“There’s a bear track, and a big one,” he said, pointing to a huge paw-mark in the soft ground.

It looked as though some giant had walked there barefooted.

“We’ll just keep tab on that fellow till he dens up, and then we ought to be able to get him,” said Ben, following the trail into the woods.

“Do you think he is around now?” inquired Ed, anxiously.

“Bless you, no; he’d have heard us long ago and--” began the guide; but he did not finish.

Just then there was a loud, startled “woof,” and a great crashing of dried twigs, and to their amazement a big black shape rose from the thicket and lumbered away.