CHAPTER XII

STRANGE ADVENTURES

After a short rest and a hearty meal of broiled venison I felt greatly refreshed. Then I skinned the deer and hung the hide upon the wall to dry. I had no means of tanning it, unless I cut it into small pieces, and I could not remove the hair by burying it, but I had no real need of more leather at the time and this did not trouble me. Moreover, I felt sure that the skin could be softened and tanned later on, if it was required, and that meanwhile the rawhide, with its thick hair, would serve as a robe or blanket for my bunk.

I soon found that the lynx had served me far better than I had thought at first, for the deer furnished a great many useful things which would prove of the utmost value.

In the hard, pointed horns I saw material which could be used in making awls, arrow-heads, and other objects. The strong leg-tendons were just what I required for my bowstring. The great cords of the neck would serve as thongs or lashings, and I even saved the hoofs in the hope of finding use for them. By the time the skin was scraped and spread up, the cords and tendons removed and stretched to dry, and the meat had been cut up and hung up to freeze, the afternoon was spent and darkness prevented further work.

I had expected that the lynx would prowl about and disturb me, but I heard nothing of him that night. The next day I devoted all my time and energies to finishing my new bow. It promised to be a powerful and beautiful weapon. The following morning I fitted it with a string of braided deer-sinew and, stepping outside, proceeded to test its power.

I used one of my old bone-tipped shafts—for I had determined to discard them for better ones. It took all my strength to draw the arrow to the head. My target was a tree some fifty yards distant. The loud, musical twang of the string, the speed of the whizzing shaft, and the sounding thump with which it struck the tree filled me with delight, and I hurried forward to examine the arrow where it stuck, quivering, in the tree trunk.

Although it was a light, bone-headed affair, it had buried its tip for fully an inch in the frozen bark, and while the head was ruined and the shaft split and shattered from the blow, I was overjoyed at the result of the shot.

Returning to the hut, I now gave my attention to making a supply of arrows. I had already gathered a good number of straight sticks for the shafts, and I soon bound the stone heads I had made to these, using fine deer-sinews for lashings, and by this means making a far neater and better job than I had been able to accomplish before. Moreover, I had profited by my experience in shrinking hide upon the snow-shoes, and wrapped the arrows with wet sinew, which tightened until it sank into the wood when it dried. These arrows I feathered with strips cut from partridge-wing quills, binding them on with slender, thread-like sinew. Having used up all my stone arrow-points, I proceeded to make some more tips from the deer’s horns. This was an easy matter compared with many things which I had accomplished, for I could cut off the tips of the antlers, grind them to sharp points, and work down the bases to fit the shafts, all by means of the grindstone. While engaged at this occupation I wondered how I would have fared had I not found the cabin, the grindstone, the file, and the other contents of the hut. In an open lean-to I would doubtless have frozen to death long ago; the file had enabled me to kill the bear and secure a warm robe; while the grindstone had provided means for making the spear. The hut had unquestionably saved my life, but I felt that even without the file and the grindstone I might have succeeded very well, for my traps and snares had provided food and clothing without the aid of the hut’s contents. I could have used birch-bark utensils instead of the kettle, and nothing which I had found in the cabin had helped me in making stone arrow-heads. I was grateful for everything I had found, however, for I realized how much I had been helped by the odds and ends which the former occupants of the cabin had not thought worth taking away, and I breathed a blessing upon them for what they had left behind.

With my strong, powerful bow and quartz-tipped arrows I felt well armed and able to attack any creature which I might meet—not excepting the abominable lynx. I was so anxious to test my new weapons on real game that I decided to set out the next morning without waiting to complete my horn-tipped arrows.

As I stood outside my hut, hesitating which way to go, I thought of the trail which led away from the cabin and immediately decided to follow this. I had given up all thoughts of making my way out of the forest until spring, but my snow-shoes were such a success that I could travel almost as readily as if no snow covered the earth, and I became quite excited as I reasoned that, after all, there was no reason why I should not explore the trail for as far as I could walk and return in a day. For all I knew the settlements might be much nearer than I suspected, and while I was far too wise to dream of cutting myself off from the comforts and safety of my cabin by making a long trip through the winter woods, I might learn something of value by following the old trail for a few miles.

In any case, I had not gone in this direction since the snow fell and I was as likely to find game there as anywhere else, and, so thinking, I trudged off along the track. In the autumn, before snow had hidden the ground, the trail had been easy to follow, for half-obliterated ax-marks on the trees, old moss-grown stumps where trees had been felled to form a rough road, and other signs made the way unmistakable. Now, however, the old stumps and logs were many feet beneath the snow, while many of the “blazes” on the trees were hidden by it, and only by using great care and by noting the more open space in the forest—which indicated where the trees had been cut—was I able to follow the trail.

I saw my first game when about a mile from my cabin—a sleek, red fox—which trotted out of the woods ahead and stopped short and gazed at me curiously as his keen nose caught my scent.

Hastily fitting an arrow to my bow, I drew it to the head and let drive at Reynard, but at the twang of the bowstring he was up and away like a flash of red light, and the whizzing, stone-tipped arrow buried itself harmlessly in the snow. I was somewhat disappointed, but I was also encouraged when I found the arrow had struck fair and square exactly where the fox had stood, for I knew then that there was no question of the accuracy of my weapons.

It took me a long time to dig the arrow out, for it had penetrated several feet of snow, but I recovered it at last and resumed my tramp. Soon after this I started a white hare from a clump of drooping evergreen boughs and marked him down where he squatted beside a fallen branch, a score of paces distant. Had I not actually seen him stop I should never have been able to distinguish him, for his white fur rendered him invisible against the snow, and only by keeping my eyes fixed upon him could I be sure of his presence. As the speeding arrow struck home there was a little commotion in the snow and, hurrying forward, I found the hare pierced through and through. It was really an excellent shot, and I felt wonderfully proud of my skill as I slung the hare at my belt and continued on my way.

I had traveled perhaps three miles from my cabin when the woods came suddenly to an end and I found myself standing at the edge of a large clearing. I was so absolutely dumfounded that I could scarce believe my eyes, for scattered about the clearing were half a dozen log houses. I cannot describe the sensations that swept over me in the few brief minutes that I stood there, gazing speechless at the tiny settlement. Mingled with my overwhelming joy at sight of the buildings was a feeling of chagrin to think that I had lived alone for months, had suffered agonies, and had endured hardships and privations, when by an hour’s walk I could have been once more among my fellow-men.

With a loud halloo I hurried forward, and then, for the first time, I noticed that no smoke rose from the chimneys of the log buildings, that the smooth expanse of snow was unbroken by human footprints or trodden paths, and that no yelping curs—invariable accessories to outlying settlements—disputed my approach.

Before I reached the first house my spirits fell, for I realized that the place was deserted, that no human being was there to welcome me, and a sort of vague fear crept over me. There was something unnatural, something “creepy,” mysterious, and weird about this lifeless village in the wilderness, and as I reached the first building I hesitated to push open the door for dread of what I might find within.

But I had no need to fear; the house was empty, although garments hung upon the walls, the bunks were filled with moldy bedding, and utensils and rude furniture were scattered about. My curiosity now overcame my groundless fears and I made the rounds of the entire settlement, but in every building it was the same—not a sign of life anywhere—and yet somehow I felt convinced that human beings had been there not long before. Where they had gone, what had caused them to leave, was a mystery, for the buildings were in good repair, there was an abundance of timber all about, and a few dry corn-stalks projecting above the snow showed that the former inhabitants had cultivated the ground. That it was a permanent settlement and not a temporary wood-cutters’ camp was evident, for articles of feminine apparel were upon the walls of some of the houses and a few cheap toys were in two of the dwellings.

The buildings were so much better than my little cabin, that for a moment I considered moving my belongings and taking possession of the place, but the thought had scarcely entered my mind when I realized that I would feel far more lonely and depressed when surrounded by the silent, deserted houses than in my own cabin in the heart of the woods. But if I could not consider taking up my quarters in the village, I could at least make my life far easier by helping myself to the many useful articles the former inhabitants had left. Thus thinking, I started toward the first house, determined to make a systematic search of every building.

I was about half-way across an open space near the center of the clearing, which I supposed had been cultivated land, when the toe of my snow-shoe caught upon some object and I plunged forward into the snow. Picking myself up, I glanced around to see what had thus tripped me, and to my surprise saw a hewn timber, or plank, projecting through the snow.

Curious to learn what this meant, I dug away the snow about it and in a few moments disclosed a second timber nailed at right angles to the first. There was no doubt about it—the object over which I had stumbled was a cross! At first its import did not dawn upon me. No doubt, I thought, the inhabitants had been French Canadians and had erected the cross above a little shrine, and, rising, I passed around it and was about to continue on my way when I caught a glimpse of letters cut into the wood. Scraping away the ice and snow which half concealed them, I studied the inscription for a moment and a wave of deadly horror swept over me, for, in rudely carved, misspelled words I read the following:

Joseph and Marie Bemis His Wife Dead of Smallpox October 25 God Have Mercy on Their Souls

Instantly I realized why the village was deserted, why no human being was there, why clothing, household goods, and even the children’s toys had been left behind. The place had been swept by the plague and those who survived, if indeed any _had_ escaped, had left the stricken spot to its silent dead.

And with the thought came terror; all unwittingly I had exposed myself to the awful malady. I had entered the houses reeking with pestilence, had inhaled the stale air within the buildings where men and women had breathed their last, and had handled the very clothes and bedding which had covered their bodies during illness and death. Beyond a doubt I had already contracted the dread disease; by now the germs of smallpox might be coursing through my blood. Sick at the thought of what my fate might be and haunted by the specter of loathsome death that stalked in the silent village, I turned and dashed madly back along the trail.

From my path a flock of partridges whirred up and, perching upon a near-by tree, gazed curiously at the fur-clad being stumbling headlong through the woods. A hare leaped from the snow and scampered to one side within easy bow-shot; but I heeded neither bird nor beast, for my one thought was to leave the accursed buildings behind, to regain my cabin, and to throw myself upon my rude bunk to await the deadly sickness I felt sure would be my fate.

Breathless, exhausted, and panting I reached the hut, threw off my outer garments, and huddled in my bed to spend an awful afternoon and night, as, alternately shaking with cold chills and burning with fever, I waited for the first symptoms of the malady.

To add to my misery the lynx howled in the woods near by, and in its awful cries I seemed to hear a dire foreboding of my death; a note of triumphant malice, as if the creature knew my plight and realized that ere long I would be helpless, that, ill and dying, I could offer no resistance, and that, tearing his way through the flimsy roof, he could spring on me and glut himself upon my wasted flesh.

Like some terrible nightmare the long hours passed, for I was more terrified than ever before in my life, and no savage creature, no danger of the forest, not even the dread of losing my foot, had filled me with such mortal fear as the thought of lying alone and uncared for in my hut while dying slowly of the smallpox.

But toward morning sheer exhaustion compelled me to sleep, and the day was well advanced when I again awoke. Then, feeling strong, hungry, and as well as ever, much of my first fear left me and, pulling myself together, I looked the matter squarely in the face.

After all, I reasoned, I might not have contracted the disease. I had been vaccinated a few years before, and even if this was no longer efficacious I might be naturally immune to smallpox. And then another cheering thought came to me. Perhaps the two who had died were the only victims and the others had left before the disease had spread. Moreover, I now remembered there was no date other than October 25 upon the rude epitaph, and, for all I knew, the cross might have been erected several years before and the village might have been occupied for long thereafter by healthy people. All these sensible thoughts comforted and cheered me and revived my spirits greatly. I decided there was no use of worrying over what might never happen and that if I _had_ contracted the disease there would be time enough to fear the results when sickness came on.

Meanwhile I was busily preparing my breakfast, for I was very hungry, having quite forgotten to eat during my fright the day before. I was half through my meal when a new idea came to me.

I had found this very cabin deserted. Was it not probable that its occupants had also been afflicted with smallpox? For an instant I was quite overcome with the thought that I might have been dwelling for many weeks where people had suffered or died with the contagious disease, but the next moment I burst into a hearty laugh, for I realized that if, as I suspected, there _had_ been smallpox in the cabin, the fact that I had not contracted it was proof that I had little need to fear. Thus reassured and casting all worry aside, I gathered up my weapons and went forth to search for game.

This morning I decided to take a new route and to cross the lake, which, I felt sure, was frozen hard enough to bear my weight in safety, for I still had a lingering feeling that the way to the settlements lay across the lake, and I was anxious to explore the farther side.

Traveling upon the smooth, unobstructed surface of the lake was easy, and I soon reached the opposite shores. I found the forest far heavier here, while rocky ledges, cliffs, and ravines made travel very difficult. In fact, I found it impossible to penetrate far into the woods, and in the hopes of finding some trail, pass, or opening I skirted the shore of the lake from one end to the other. But everywhere I found the same wild, impassable country, and, becoming firmly convinced that the settlements did not lie in this direction, I headed around the upper end of the lake toward home.

I had seen no game during my tramp, although tracks of foxes, hares, and other creatures were numerous, and, reaching my own side of the lake, I entered the forest and proceeded to seek carefully for game. I had walked for some distance and was well within the woods when I again felt the sensation of being followed and watched which I had experienced when dragging home the deer. At first I thought this was pure imagination, for I had seen no signs of lynx tracks in the vicinity, but nevertheless, I could not resist the desire to glance furtively about from time to time. Finally the feeling became so strong that it got upon my nerves and almost unconsciously I began to swing around on my tracks toward my cabin. Presently I came upon my own trail, and then I knew for a certainty that instinct had not played me false, for beside the broad, oval marks of my snow-shoes were the unmistakable tracks of the lynx. The beast was trailing me! At first I felt fear, but this quickly gave way to anger at the lynx for daring to track me, and I became possessed with the determination to slay him and be rid of his presence once and for all.

To attempt to approach within reach of the lynx would, I felt, be useless, and I knew he was far too sagacious to be caught in my traps. I decided to match my own skill and cunning against his and to bring him to his death through his own persistence in following me.

Carefully stepping in my former tracks I continued on for some distance and then, turning about, retraced my steps, still stepping in the marks already made by my snow-shoes. Presently I came to a spot where a low limb projected above the tracks and, grasping this, I drew myself up, untied the snow-shoes from my feet, and very carefully worked my way along the branch to the trunk of the tree. It was leafless and bare and afforded no shelter, and I knew that the lynx would see me long before I saw him and so, dropping to the snow on the farther side of the trunk, I made my way to a near-by evergreen and, climbing up, concealed myself among its thick branches.

With an arrow fitted to my bow I waited, peering forth through the aisles of the forest in the direction whence I had come.

The time passed slowly. A great, scarlet-crested, pileated woodpecker flitted to a neighboring tree and the forest echoed to the resounding blows of his powerful beak. A flock of redpolls twittered among the branches above my head, and crossbills clambered, parrot-like, among the drooping cones, shearing off the scales with their scissors-like beaks in their search for pine seeds. A gray Canada jay alighted upon one of my snow-shoes and pecked at the dry bear’s hide, eying me saucily meanwhile. From a treetop a squirrel chattered, and from all about came the plaintive calls of chickadees. The forest was full of busy life, each tiny creature busily gleaning its livelihood and all unmindful of my presence.

Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed, and then at last I saw him. Slouching along in a loose-jointed stride, the lynx skulked on after me in the distance, keeping as much as possible behind trees and fallen branches, sniffing at my footprints and ever and anon stopping to peer about, while turning his head first this way, then that, as if to smell the air for a suspicious scent. Presently he reached the spot where my two trails met and instantly the creature became all alert. For a few steps he trotted back upon the old trail and then, turning, came back and went along the new trail for a few feet. Evidently he was somewhat puzzled, for his every action betrayed the fact. Then curiosity gave place to suspicion, and with a single lithe bound he leaped into a tree and, crouching close to the trunk, peered about as if striving to catch sight of me. But he could see nothing that resembled the being he was hunting and, reassured, he sprang down and, after a moment’s hesitation, came trotting toward my hiding-place.

Already the wild things about had seen the great cat and had scented danger in the tawny, threatening form. With a piercing cry the woodpecker ceased his tattoo and winged his way swiftly out of sight. The squirrels in the treetops ceased their chatter and hugged the bark, motionless. The twitter of the redpolls and crossbills was silenced. Even the bold whisky-jack, deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, perched far out of reach and contented himself with taunting the lynx with raucous cries. Only the chickadees seemed undisturbed. Regardless of the approaching form, they continued to flutter about and to utter their sweet calls, as if they realized they were too tiny to attract the savage creature with his lust for blood.

Now the lynx was within a hundred yards; I could see his baleful green eyes, his half-opened mouth, and his keen, white teeth. Each instant he was approaching closer. Never had I suffered from buck-fever before, but now my hands shook, my teeth chattered, and a strange, choking sensation gripped my throat. The lynx was within easy bow-shot, but still I hesitated, striving to steady my nerves, determined to take no chances, and watching with fixed gaze as he came nearer and nearer. At last he reached the spot where I had doubled on my tracks, sniffed about, raised himself on his hind legs, and before I realized what he was about he sprang to the very branch upon which I had drawn myself. Instantly he caught my scent upon the bark, crouched low with bristling fur, and turned his fierce eyes directly upon my hiding-place. By some supernatural instinct he seemed to have divined my ruse and to have discovered me. Perhaps he did not actually see me, perhaps it was mere chance which led him to jump into the tree, but at the moment I felt convinced that he saw me as plainly as I saw him, that he had overcome all his natural cowardice and was bent on attacking me, and that in another instant he would launch himself across the intervening space and fly at my throat with those great, hooked claws and gleaming teeth. Scarce a score of feet separated us. At any moment he might crouch and spring. Drawing back the bow with trembling fingers, I let the arrow fly. Even as I drew the bow I knew the lynx detected the motion, and as the string twanged I saw his great form shoot into space, I had a glimpse of the outstretched feet and bared talons, I heard a snarl of rage, and the next second I fell crashing to the snow as the lynx plunged through the screen of branches about me.

The force of my fall buried me under the snow; before I could rise, even before I realized fully what had happened, something landed on me with a thud that knocked the little remaining breath from my body, and with a wild, frightened yell I struck out blindly with fists and feet. What followed was the madness of nightmare. Blinded by snow, frightened half out of my wits, dazed by my fall, struggling, kicking, striking, I was whirled about like a giant teetotum, while my yells and shouts mingled with snarls, growls, and piercing screams. Glimpses of evergreen-trees and blue sky, avalanches of snow and a brown, furry form, revolved in a kaleidoscopic blur. Suddenly all motion ceased; I found myself lying, panting but unharmed, in a crater of snow, and, sitting up, I rubbed my eyes and glanced about. Instantly I realized what had happened. The lynx had missed his mark, had fallen squarely on top of me, and together we had fought and struggled in the snow, each more frightened than the other, each striving to break loose, and both scratching, striking, and screaming with all our strength.

No wonder I had been dazed and my mind turned topsy-turvy. The marvel was that I was still alive and well and not minus eyes, ears, and strips of flesh. My furs had saved me from the lynx’s claws, and the snow had acted as a pad, but my clothing was in tatters, bunches of lynx fur were scattered about, and all around the snow was churned, tossed, and furrowed where we had spun hither and thither like a mad pinwheel.

For a brief instant I was filled with dread for fear the creature was waiting close at hand to resume the attack, and then, the humor of the situation dawning upon me, I roared with laughter until tears filled my eyes.

My bow was close at hand, where it had dropped from the tree, my snow-shoes were lying half buried in the snow, and my various other possessions were scattered about, but not a sign of the lynx could I see. But as I rose and started to gather up my belongings I saw drops of scarlet upon the snow beside the creature’s tracks. A little farther on I picked up the broken shaft of my arrow, covered with blood, and then I knew that my antagonist had not escaped unscathed.

For a few yards I followed the telltale blood-drops, until both the stains and tracks ended where the lynx had evidently taken to the trees. I was not sorry; I had had my fill of adventures for one day, and, turning on my tracks, I made my way back toward the cabin. How badly the lynx was wounded I could not tell. Perhaps it was merely a scratch from which he suffered little, or perchance the stone tip of my arrow buried itself in his vitals and caused his death. At any rate, he never troubled me again and his weird cry never disturbed my slumbers in the future. This being the case, I cared little whether through fright he had fled the country or whether he had slunk away to die within his den.