Part 6

Withal, that first week was a trying one, and when, late on Friday evening they glimpsed at a distance the Narrows tilt, and saw smoke issuing from the pipe, they welcomed it joyfully, and were glad enough to be back. Upon entering they found Indian Jake busily engaged preparing supper, the tilt cozy and warm, and the kettle boiling merrily. A pot of partridges simmering upon the stove sent forth an appealing odor. Then they realized how very lonely they had been.

“How you making it, lads?” asked Indian Jake cheerily.

“Not so bad,” answered David stoutly.

“’Tis wonderful fine t’ see you, Jake,” exclaimed Andy.

“’Tis that,” agreed David.

Indian Jake laughed.

“’Twas--’twas growin’ lonesome out there,” explained Andy.

“Yes,” said Indian Jake, “it is lonesome out there till you get used to it.”

“It seems a wonderful long time since we left the Jug,” observed Andy, as they ate supper.

“Not so long,” said David, a little inclined to brag.

“No only a month yet. But,” condescendingly, “’tis like t’ seem long the first time. ’Twas so when I was up here with Pop last year. But I’m not mindin’ un now.”

“You was lonesome enough up at the Namaycush Lake tilt,” Andy retorted.

“’Twon’t help any t’ talk about un,” warned Indian Jake. “You’ll be gettin’ homesick at the start.”

But after this the hope that each trap would reward them with a fine pelt kept alive their keen interest in the work. And, too, they were doing exceedingly well. Before the middle of December they had captured fourteen martens, one red, one cross, and two white foxes, which was quite as well, Indian Jake declared, as he had done, and was very well indeed, and they were proud.

“And it’s all prime fur except th’ first two martens we got,” said David.

“We’re makin’ a grand hunt, Davy!” exclaimed Andy, enthusiastically.

“That we are!” agreed David.

The cold was tightening with each December day. Wild, fierce storms sprang up suddenly, and the air was filled with blinding clouds of snow. But David and Andy kept steadily at their work, with “plenty of grit, and stout hearts,” lying idle only when it would have been too dangerous or foolhardy to venture forth from the protection of the tilts. This is the portion of the fur hunter’s existence.

But neither David nor Andy gave thought to the hardships he was experiencing. They had expected them, and they were accustomed to cold weather and deep snows. They were always glad, however, to reach the snug shelter of the tilts, of nights.

Their excellent success kept them in good spirits and contented at their work for the most part, though sometimes, when drifting snows clogged the traps, and days were spent in clearing them, the trails grew tedious, and then it was quite natural that they should long for the return of summer, and for home.

Nothing occurred to vary the monotonous routine of the days until late one December afternoon. The previous night had been one of wind and drifting snow. The fox traps lay deeply covered by drifts, and since early morning they had been clearing and resetting them. The long northern twilight was at hand, and, plodding silently along toward the Namaycush Lake tilt, still three miles away, they were thinking of the hot supper and warm fire, and hours of rest that should presently be theirs, when suddenly David stopped and listened intently.

“What is it?” asked Andy.

“’Tis something following us,” answered David after a moment’s silence.

“I hears nothing,” said Andy.

“But ’tis there!” insisted David. “I _feels_ un!”

A little longer they listened, and then passed on.

“There _is_ somethin’!” exclaimed Andy presently, in an awed voice. “I feels un too.”

Closer and closer the something seemed to come, stealing after them stealthily through the shadows of the forest. With the instinct of those born and bred to the solitudes, they felt the presence, and were certain it was there, though they could neither hear nor see it.

Again and again they paused expectantly to listen, and at length their keen ears caught a light, stealthy tread.

X

THE FIGHT WITH A WOLF PACK

“Hear un! Hear un coming!” exclaimed Andy in a hushed voice.

“’Tis just back there in th’ bush, but I can’t see un!” said David, under his breath.

“Take a shot, anyhow,” suggested Andy, who had lashed his own rifle on the load, that he might carry an ax, which was constantly required in the work about the traps.

“Not till we sees un,” David objected. “Pop says never shoot at what you don’t see.”

They hurried a little now, though pausing frequently to peer into the forest gloom behind them. Twilight was thickening. The thing, whatever it was, that followed them was growing bolder and less careful to conceal its movements. With little effort they could quite plainly hear the tread of soft footfalls on places where the snow was covered by an icy crust. It was not, however, until the stovepipe of the tilt, standing in black silhouette above a great snowdrift that nearly covered the little log building, had risen into view, that Andy, looking back, exclaimed:

“There ’tis, now! There ’tis! Wolves!”

David stopped, and turning about beheld five great fearsome gray creatures. It was at least a relief to know what manner of beast stalked them. There is attached to a hidden, skulking enemy a mystery that accentuates the sense of peril. But now the danger was real enough.

When the boys stopped, the wolves stopped also, and in full view sat upon their haunches, with lolling red tongues, greedily observing their intended victims. They were not above fifty yards distant, and a cold chill ran up the lads’ spines as they beheld them.

“Shoot now!” said Andy, tensely, after a moment’s silence.

Dropping the hauling rope of the toboggan from his shoulders, David without a word slipped his rifle from the loose sealskin case in which he carried it, took careful aim, and pulled the trigger.

“Snap!” went the hammer, but there was no explosion.

A wolf sprang to his feet, and baring his ugly white fangs emitted a snarl that sent a fresh tingle down the boys’ spines.

“The firing pin is froze!” exclaimed David, again cocking the rifle and aiming.

Again there was a snap but no explosion. Again he tried, and again the cartridge failed to explode.

“Pick up th’ gun case, Andy, and walk ahead,” directed David, in a voice tense with excitement, as he readjusted the hauling ropes upon his shoulders. “Don’t run, now, b’y, and don’t hurry. Pop says never run from wolves. If you do, they’re like t’ close in on us.”

“We’re most to th’ tilt,” said Andy nervously, as he obeyed David’s instructions and set forward, with David in the rear, at their usual pace.

When David and Andy moved the wolves followed. With every step they gradually but perceptibly drew a little closer. When the outline of the tilt appeared through the thickening twilight the animals were not ten yards behind the nervous, frightened boys. David, glancing back, could see the bristling hair above the powerful shoulders, and the ugly red lolling muzzles of the beasts.

“Get in quick and light th’ candle, Andy!” he directed when at last they reached the door. “Hurry, now! They’re like t’ rush any minute!”

Snow had drifted against the door and clogged it, and it seemed to David that Andy would never get it open. The wolves were edging closer--closer--closer. They were not twenty feet away when at last the doorway was cleared and Andy sprang into the tilt, shouting to David to hurry, while he nervously lighted the candle.

In momentary fear of being charged by the pack and torn to bits, David had stood facing the wolves as they edged in, inch by inch. Andy’s shout, and the flare of the candle within the tilt brought assurance of safety, and with his face still to the wolves he backed into the door, drawing the toboggan after him.

“Come, Andy, now, help me pull her! Help me pull her!” David shouted, tugging with frenzied energy at the loaded and unwieldly toboggan.

Lashed upon the toboggan were their sleeping bags and two of the finest martens they had captured during the winter. If he abandoned it, David was well aware that the wolves would destroy everything it contained, and with never a thought that the wolves would be so bold as to attempt to follow him and Andy into the tilt, he determined also to save their belongings.

Andy sprang to his assistance, and the two boys pulled with all their strength, but as they might well have known, the toboggan was quite too long for the narrow tilt, and when they had drawn it in as far as they could, an end still blocked the doorway, and they could not close the door.

Then it was that the heads of two wolves, ravenous, and grown exceeding bold, fearless even of the candle light, appeared at the entrance, determined, it was apparent, to make an attack, whether or no.

David, in desperation, instinctively seized his rifle, threw it to his shoulder, with the muzzle almost touching the leading wolf, and pulled the trigger.

There was an explosion, a snarl, and the wolf fell at David’s feet. The frozen firing pin was at last released. With lightning speed he threw forward and drew back the lever, and fired again, and the other wolf fell. Stooping low, with the rifle still at his shoulder, he discovered the three other wolves slinking in the twilight just outside the door, and again his rifle rang death to a wolf, But this was to be his last victim, for the two remaining animals turned, and faded in the gathering gloom.

“’Twas a narrow escape!” exclaimed Andy, sitting limply down upon the edge of a bunk.

“That it was!” and David, no less excited and relieved, was visibly shaking.

“They might have got us!” said Andy, weakly.

“They might have, but they didn’t, and they didn’t get th’ martens or tear up our sleeping bags, either,” and the trembling but proud David seated himself by Andy’s side, to recover his composure.

“You kept your grit, and were wonderful brave, Davy,” said Andy admiringly.

“Oh, ’twasn’t anything,” and David, with a brave show, arose and began unlashing the toboggan. “You kept your grit just as much, Andy. If you had run, or hadn’t got the door open or the candle lit, we’d sure been killed.”

“’Twere fine th’ gun went off, but ’tis strange she didn’t go off when you tried her before,” suggested Andy.

“If I’d tried un once more out where we first saw th’ wolves, she’d have gone off, but I gives up too soon,” said David. “Th’ tryin’ I did loosed th’ ice around th’ firin’ pin. I just _had_ t’ try un when th’ wolves started in after us; and she were all right.”

And so it is, much too often in life. We give up too soon. We would turn many a failure into success if we would but keep on trying, and doing our best, and not permit ourselves to become discouraged.

When the toboggan was unloaded they took it out, dragged in the dead wolves where they would not freeze, and after they had kindled a fire and eaten their supper, removed the pelts from the three, and fine big pelts they were.

XI

A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE

Even their first marten had not given the boys the degree of satisfaction they derived from the capture of the wolf pelts. They had experienced an adventure, too, that had impressed upon them the need of constant watchfulness, and it was agreed that in future each should carry his rifle, and be assured that it was always in serviceable condition.

“I’m thinkin’, now,” observed Andy, as he and David scraped the pelts, “that these must be th’ same wolves we heard the day we comes t’ Seal Lake. They’ve been ’bidin’ close by ever since, like as not.”

“It’s like as not they’re th’ same,” agreed David, “but they were never ’bidin’ so close all this while without showin’ themselves. They makes their hunt where there’s deer, and I’m thinkin’ there’s deer not far away.”

“Some deer’s meat would go fine,” suggested Andy.

“’Twould, now,” said David. “’Tis strange we’ve seen no deer footin’ anywhere th’ whole winter.”

“Maybe th’ deer are comin’ handy, and that’s what brings th’ wolves back,” said Andy.

“They’re like t’ be on th’ open meshes,” said David. “We may see signs of un tomorrow.”

“And if we does, we’ll have a deer hunt!” exclaimed Andy, expectantly.

“We will that!” declared David, “even if we are a day late gettin’ back t’ th’ Narrows tilt.”

The adventure of the evening occupied their conversation until the wolf pelts were scraped and hung to dry. Then David filled the stove with wood, and blowing out the candle they slipped into their sleeping bags.

“I’m wonderin’, now,” mused Andy, after they had lain a little while in silence, “what Pop will say when we tells him about th’ wolves.”

“He’ll say we did fine gettin’ three good skins,” said David proudly. “They’re all prime, and worth four dollars each, _what_ever.”

“’Tis a fine day’s hunt!” enthused Andy, adding: “But I wouldn’t want t’ be chased by un again!”

“Aye, ’twere a close call,” admitted David. “After this we’ll both carry our rifles, and we’ll be sure they’re workin’ all right.”

“And I’m thinkin’,” said Andy, “th’ Lard was on th’ lookout for us, and He made your rifle go off, Davy, just th’ right time.”

“Aye,” said David, “just th’ right time.”

“When I said my prayer,” continued Andy reverently, “I thanked th’ Lard for standin’ by us.”

“So did I,” admitted David, “and I thanked He for th’ three wolf skins and th’ two martens. They’re a big help toward payin’ for Jamie’s cure, and we gets un all in _one_ day.”

“I wonders,” and Andy’s voice was filled with awe, “if Mother knows about un, and if she’s glad?”

“And I wonders, too!” said David, in subdued and reverential voice. “If she knows about un, she’s wonderful glad, Andy--and--I’m always thinkin, she does see us, Andy, and everything we does. She were tellin’ me once, Andy, before she dies, that when th’ Lard takes she away to be an angel, she’ll always keep close to us in spirit. She were sayin’ she always wants us to know she’s close by watchin’ us and helpin’ us, even if we can’t see her.”

“I’m thinkin’ then,” breathed Andy, looking about him in the darkness as though half expecting to see his mother’s form, “she might be right close to us now, and--maybe--she’s touchin’ us. Do you--do you think she _is_, Davy?”

“They’s--no knowin’,” said David in a half whisper, no less awed by the thought than was Andy. “I’m thinkin’ if th’ Lard lets th’ angels do what they wants t’ do, Mother’s right here now. Th’ Lard would never be denyin’ His angels, for He wants th’ angels t’ be happy, and Mother never’d be happy if she couldn’t be with us.”

The lads lay silent for a little, pondering upon the mystery of life beyond the grave. Before their fancy’s vision there arose a picture of the gentle mother who had been taken from them so long ago, and who had loved them so well.

“Davy,” whispered Andy presently, “you awake?”

“Yes,” answered David, “I’m wonderful wakeful.”

“I wish,” said Andy wistfully, “Mother’d come and put her hand on my forehead and kiss me good night, like she used to, so I’d feel her. I’m--wantin’ her wonderful bad--I’m lonesome for she--Davy.”

“Maybe she’s doin’ it, Andy,” said David. “Maybe she’s kissin’ us both, and touchin’ us and lovin’ us like she used to do. Maybe she is, Andy, and we don’t know it, because th’ touch of angels is so light we never could feel un.”

Perhaps she was. Who knows? Who can tell when loved ones beyond the grave come to caress us and minister to us, and to rejoice and sorrow with us? Our ears are not attuned to hear their dear voices, our eyes have not the power to see their glorious presence.

Never since coming into the wilderness had the isolation of the great solitudes impressed David and Andy so deeply as now. Their imagination was awake. In fancy they could see, reaching away into unmeasured miles on every side of the little tilt which sheltered them, the silent, white, unpeopled wilderness. There was no one to turn to for companionship. Even Indian Jake, sleeping soundly, doubtless, in some far distant camp, seemed no part of their world. The crackling fire in the stove accentuated the silence that surrounded them. An ill-fitting stove cover permitted flickering rays of light to escape from the stove, and dance in ghostly manner upon the ceiling. Weird shadows rose and fell in dark corners. There was small wonder that the two lads should be lonely, and heart hungry. It was quite natural that at such a time they should long for a mother’s gentle caress and loving sympathy.

All of us are Davids and Andys sometimes. God pity the man that forgets the tender love and ministry and willing sacrifice of his mother. God pity the man who grows too old to wish sometimes for his mother’s love and sympathy and steadfast faith in him when others lose their faith. What courage it would give him to fight the battles of life! So long as his mother’s memory lives green in a man’s heart, and he feels her dear spirit near him, he cannot stray far from the paths of rectitude.

But the day’s work had been hard, and David and Andy were weary. Presently their eyes closed, and they were lost in the sound and dreamless sleep of robust youth.

There is no dawdling in bed of mornings for the trapper. His day’s work must be done, and the hours of light in this far northern land are all too short. And so, as was their custom, David and Andy, in spite of their previous day’s excitement and hard work, were up and had a roaring fire in the stove a full hour before daybreak.

“I’m wonderful glad,” remarked David, as he came in with a kettle of water and placed it on the stove, “that we don’t have to haul the flat sled with us around th’ mesh today. Maybe we’ll have a chance t’ look for deer.”

“We’ll hurry over th’ trail, and get through settin’ up th’ traps early,” said Andy. “’Tis wonderful cozy here in th’ tilt, and if we don’t find deer signs ’twill be fine t’ get back early.”

“I’ll tell you, now, what we’ll do,” suggested David. “I’ll take th’ n’uth’ard side, and you th’ s’uth’ard side, and we’ll each go over half th’ trail instead of both travelin’ together over all of un, and we’ll get through in half th’ time. We’ll meet in th’ clump of spruce on th’ easterly side of th’ mesh, where we always stops t’ boil th’ kettle.”

“That’s a fine plan!” exclaimed Andy. “When we gets there t’ boil th’ kettle we’ll have all th’ traps set up, and if neither of us sees any deer footin’ we’ll know there’s none about. If there’s no deer about, we can come right back t’ th’ tilt.”

“I’m thinkin’, now, you hopes we’ll see no deer footin’,” grinned David, adding understandingly: “’Tis hard gettin’ started o’ mornings sometimes for me, too, and I’m thinkin’ how fine th’ tilt’ll be to get back to. But I never minds un after I gets started.”

“I don’t mind after it gets fair daylight,” asserted Andy.

As they talked Andy sliced some fat pork into the frying pan, while David stirred baking powder and salt into some flour, poured water into the mixture and proceeded to mix dough. When the pork was fried to their taste, which was far from crisp, Andy removed the slices one by one on the end of his sheath knife and placed them on a tin plate. A quantity of hot grease remained in the frying pan, and into this David laid a cake of dough which he had moulded as thin as possible, and just large enough to fit nicely into the pan.

Presently the cake, swollen to many times its original thickness, and deliciously browned, was removed. Another took its place to fry, while the boys turned to their simple, but satisfying, breakfast with amazing appetites.

When they had finished their meal David fried two additional cakes, which utilized the remaining dough. These, with some tea, a tin tea pail, two cups and a small tin box containing sugar, he dropped into a ruck sack, and the preliminaries for their day’s work were completed.

Then the two lads drew on their kersey and moleskin adikys, David slung the ruck sack upon his back, and, each bearing his rifle and a light ax, they passed out into the leaden-gray light of the winter morning.

Dawn was fading the stars, which glimmered faintly overhead. The crunch of their snowshoes was the only sound to break the silence. Rime hung in the air like a feathery veil, and the bushes, thick-coated with frost flakes, rose like white-clad ghosts along the trail.

The air was bitter cold. The boys caught their breath in short gasps as the first mouthfuls entered their lungs. David in the lead, and Andy following, neither spoke until at the end of five minutes’ brisk walking they emerged from the cover of the forest upon the edge of a wide, treeless marsh, where they were to part.

“I’ll be like t’ travel faster than you do, Andy,” said David, pausing, “and when I gets to th’ clump o’ spruce I’ll put a fire on and boil th’ kettle, and wait, and there’ll be a good fire when you gets there.”

“And if I gets there first, I’ll put a fire on,” said Andy, by way of a challenge.

“You’ll never beat me there,” laughed David. “Your legs are too short.”

“You’ll see, now,” and Andy swung off at a trot along the southerly side of the marsh, while David turned to the northerly course.

That portion of the trail which Andy was to follow skirted the edge of the marsh for a distance of nearly two miles. Then in a circuitous course it wound for some three miles through a scant forest of gnarled, stunted black spruce. Beyond this, and a mile across another marsh, was the thick spruce grove which had been designated as their meeting point, and where they were accustomed to halt to boil their kettle and eat a hasty luncheon on their weekly tour.

The other end of the trail, which David had chosen, was longer by a mile. Its entire distance, from the place where the boys separated, to the clump of spruce trees, lay over exposed marshes. On windy days, with no intervening shelter, this open stretch was always cold and disagreeable, and there was never a time when they were not glad to reach the friendly shelter of the trees. It was usual, in traveling together, as they always had heretofore, to attend the traps on this end of the trail in the forenoon, and those on the end which Andy was now following, in the afternoon.

Though Andy’s legs were short, they were hard and sinewy and he swung along at a remarkably good pace. Now and again he stopped to examine a trap; then, breaking into a trot to make up the time lost, he hastened to the next trap. Thus the two miles to the edge of the timber were quickly laid behind him, and he entered the forest just as the sun, rising timidly in the Southeast, cast its first slanting rays upon the frozen world.

Andy stood for a little in the edge of the trees to get his breath and to watch the glorious lighting of the wilderness. The bushes, thick-coated with tiny frost prisms flashing and scintillating in the light as though encrusted with marvelously brilliant gems, were afire with sparkling color. Even the rime in the air caught the fire, and the marsh became a great, transparent opal, of wonderfully dazzling beauty.

“’Tis a fine world t’ live in,” said Andy to himself. “’Twould be terrible t’ be blind and never see all th’ pretty sights. Th’ great doctor’ll cure Jamie, and then he’ll see un all again, too. We’ll work wonderful hard t’ get th’ money t’ pay for th’ cure. We’ll _have_ t’ get un, _what_ever.”

Neither the fox traps on the marsh nor the marten traps in the woods yielded Andy any fur, but as he passed from the woods to the last stretch of marsh he comforted himself with the reflection:

“We can’t expect fur _every_ day. Two martens and three wolves yesterday made a fine hunt for th’ week, even if we gets no more this trip. But Davy’s like t’ get something, and we’re like t’ get more before we reaches th’ Narrows tilt Friday.”