CHAPTER IX

WINTER SETS IN

Each second I expected to feel the enraged bear tearing at the door behind me, and I cursed my folly in having attacked him, for I realized that, unmolested, he would have, no doubt, retreated at sight of a human being, whereas, maddened by the sting of my weapon, he might force the door and tear me to pieces. Even if he dared not do this, he might lie in wait outside and attack me as I went forth in the morning, and I shivered with cold and fear at the consequences of my rash act as I stood there against the door in the black darkness of the cabin.

Minutes passed, and not a sound broke the silence outside, and at last, chilled to the bone, unable to stand the strain longer, and convinced that the bear would not attempt to force his way in, I crept to the fireplace, fanned the coals into a blaze, and sat huddled within the warmth of the hearth. Starting in terror at each sound outside, and not daring to go back to bed, I passed the long hours until dawn.

Daylight has a marvelous effect upon a man’s courage, and my fears of the night seemed quite childish as the golden rays of the rising sun penetrated the chinks of my cabin and the scream of a blue jay reached my ears.

Probably my spear had missed the bear completely, I thought, and the poor brute, far more frightened than myself, had put many miles between himself and the cabin where he had met with such a surprising reception. Thus reasoning, and smiling at my foolish terror of a harmless bear, I rose, opened the door, and peered out. Not a sign of the bear could be seen, and I hobbled out into the crisp air with the glorious sunshine sparkling on the hoar frost. I glanced about for my spear and stopped short; almost at my feet was a great crimson splotch of blood upon the fallen leaves. My spear had found its mark, and the next instant I caught sight of it lying upon the ground a few yards away. I hurried to it and picked it up. It was covered with blood, blood was spattered upon the leaves and bushes all about. Thrilled with the excitement of the chase, forgetting the risk I ran, and with spear in hand, I followed the crimson trail toward the woods. Peering intently into each clump of brush or tangled thicket, listening for some sound which might betray the presence of the wounded bear, I traced the blood-drops. At one spot among a clump of high brakes he had stopped to rest, for the coarse ferns were crushed and broken and stained with blood. In another spot he had forced his way blindly through a tangle of brambles, for blood spattered the glossy leaves and bits of black hair clung to the sharp thorns. At any moment I might come upon him wounded and at bay, and I proceeded with greater caution. At last I reached the shadow of the woods and on the dark moss and earth the trail became indistinct and hard to follow. A few yards ahead was an old fallen tree and, approaching this, I seated myself to rest and listen. As I did so I glanced to the other side, and there, within a yard of me, huddled in a great, shaggy heap, was the bear—stone-dead!

For a moment I could scarcely believe my eyes, but there was no doubt of it. The piggy little eyes were wide open and glassy, no breath heaved the great, furry sides, and the gleaming, white teeth and lolling tongue were thick with frothy blood.

Leaning toward him, I poked the sharp tip of my spear into his nose, but there was no response, no growl, no flicker of an eyelid, not even a twitch of the nostrils, and, convinced that no spark of life remained, I hurried around the log and, like a man bereft of his senses, danced about my victim. To an onlooker I would have been a strange, weird sight as, tattered and torn, half naked, with one foot bandaged in old rags, I jumped and hopped about on my rude crutch, yelling like an Indian, brandishing my spear, and crying taunts at the dead monster beside me. But my actions did not seem ludicrous at the time. I had been transformed to a primitive savage hunter glorying in his victory over the brute beast. Thousands of years had been swept from me and I acted as my ancestors once acted when they slew the saber-toothed tiger or the great cave-bear. In the dim, distant past of the stone age.

At last I calmed down and examined my quarry with vast satisfaction. Here was food, warmth, and clothing, and I patted the rude spear which had enabled me to secure them. It would be a hard job to skin the beast and to carry the hide and meat to my hut, I knew, but in view of the comfort it would bring and its value to me the thought of the labor troubled me little.

Although I had not breakfasted and was very hungry, I determined to lose no time, and started in to skin the bear at once. It was a far harder job than I had counted on, for the creature weighed three or four hundred pounds. After I had stripped the hide from one side I was obliged to turn the carcass over, and this, with only sticks to aid me and with the handicap of my crippled foot, proved a difficult task. Luckily, there was a slight slope where the bear had fallen and this helped me a great deal. By prying up the bear with a pole on one side, until his legs were uppermost, and then by hauling on withes attached to his feet, I at last toppled him over. I now returned to camp for breakfast and took with me a good-sized steak cut from the bear. The meat was excellent. Refreshed and strengthened by my meal, I returned to the bear’s carcass.

By noon I had finished skinning the creature and, with a vast amount of labor, I dragged the hide to the cabin. Two more trips were made to secure a supply of meat, and then, completely exhausted by my hard day’s work, I ate my evening meal, threw myself into my bunk, and slept soundly until the next morning.

To tan this great, shaggy skin was, I knew, quite beyond my powers, for I had no receptacle in which to place it, and I therefore decided to scrape it clean and dry it carefully, so that it would serve as a robe or covering, even though it was stiff and hard. I was determined, however, to use some of it for clothing, and for this purpose I cut off a good-sized piece and put it in the tanning liquor with the hair on. Eventually this was made into a shirt-like coat, which proved wonderfully warm and comfortable, although it was a most shapeless, ill-made affair. The bear furnished far more meat than I could eat for a long time, and I made up my mind to try to preserve a portion of it by drying. My experiments with the beaver meat and fish had been a failure, but, nevertheless, I decided to try once more, and this time I hung the strips of meat in the chimney of the cabin to smoke. I cannot say that the result of this method of preserving meat was a huge success, for the flesh was hard, dry, and smoky in flavor, but it was far better than nothing. After being soaked in water it was edible, and I knew that with a supply on hand I could not starve.

Very soon after I had killed the bear my foot became worse and I was obliged to spend most of my time in bed, for even the exertion of walking on a crutch caused me agony. I did not know, at the time, what caused the foot to become worse, but thought very likely I had struck or pressed upon it while trailing or working at the bear, or that perhaps the hard labor of those few days was too great. At any rate, the swelling recommenced, the leg became inflamed and pained me horribly, and I was fearful that blood-poisoning or gangrene had set in. I kept it constantly poulticed with the arnica and, despite the agony it caused, rubbed it with bear’s grease. But while it grew no worse, it showed no signs of getting better.

The weather had now become very cold, ice formed about the borders of the lake at night, the sky was gray and lowering, the chill north winds swept the few remaining leaves from the trees, and I realized that I could not hope to escape from the forest before winter set in.

Day after day I lay upon my bunk, only moving forth to obtain water or fire-wood. Miserable as I was, I was thankful indeed for the comfortable bear-skin which covered me, the supply of rank, smoked meat which I had provided, and, above all else, for the stout log cabin which I had so fortunately discovered.

Although I had no comforts or luxuries, yet I had all of the real necessities of life, and, had my foot been strong and well, I could have looked forward to spending a winter in the woods without great foreboding. But with my bad foot I was in a desperate situation, for the supply of bear meat was diminishing rapidly and I could not go forth to hunt for other food. At last, however, there seemed to be a change for the better in my foot and then an abscess began to form. When this at last broke and I drew forth a large sliver of wood from the wound, I felt immediate relief and realized why the injury had proved so troublesome.

As soon as the splinter was removed the ankle and foot commenced to recover rapidly, and within a week the pain had left it and, much to my joy, I found that I could move the foot and could even rest some weight upon it. But I realized that it would take time for my foot to regain its full strength and that to use it too soon would only result in further trouble, and I nursed it with every possible care. Day by day it became stronger and soon I was able to limp about the cabin, although I still used a crutch when out of doors. I began to plan for my tramp toward the settlements and to hope for an escape from the forest very soon.

Then one morning I awoke to find snow drifting through the crevices of my cabin. Opening the door, I looked forth upon a strange world of white. Already the snow was ankle-deep upon the earth, the evergreens drooped under its weight, the lake gleamed black and sullen in the midst of the vast white landscape. Ceaselessly, silently, the flakes fell from the leaden sky, shutting off the farther shores and the interminable forests as with a dense, white curtain.

All day long the snow fell, all through that night and until noon of the next day, and when the pale, wintry sun again broke through the clouds its watery rays glittered in dazzling brilliancy from a veritable fairyland. But to my eyes there was little to admire, for the earth was buried deep under many inches of snow, which had made me a helpless prisoner in the depths of the wilderness.

How hopeless it would be to attempt to tramp to the settlements under such conditions was borne upon me as I broke my way through the snow toward the edge of the woods to secure a supply of wood, the next morning; but while I was disgusted at thus being shut off by this first snowfall just as my foot was becoming of use again, I realized that, after all, the snow had helped me.

Everywhere upon the surface of the fresh snow were the footprints of birds and animals. It seemed incredible that there could be so many wild creatures dwelling close at hand, unseen and unsuspected. Here, the well-marked trail of a hare crossed the snow; back and forth across it zigzagged the snake-like track of a marten; to one side, and evidently following the others, were the imprints of a fox’s feet, and I could distinguish the marks left by partridges, squirrels, and many other woodland denizens which I could not identify.

Surely, with these trails to guide me, I could set traps and secure both food and furs, and I grew greatly interested and wandered here and there, striving to read the stories the creatures had written on the snow.

Even close to the hut many creatures had passed and repassed during the night. I noticed where a hare had scampered about the cabin. Some larger animal had dug through the snow before the door to secure some old bones I had dropped, and at least a dozen smaller creatures had made merry about my dwelling while I slept, all unconscious of their presence.

As my foot was now strong enough to enable me to walk upon it with the aid of a cane, I decided to start out after breakfast and set some traps, and so, wrapping the bear-skin about me, armed with my bow and arrows, and using my spear as a staff, I set forth. I must have been a wild and savage figure as I limped through the snow that morning, wrapped in the bear-skin, with my hair falling to my shoulders, and with an unkempt, ragged beard covering my face, and I might well have been mistaken for the original wild man. But no one was there to see me and I gave no thought to my appearance, but trudged away through the snow toward the forest, my eyes fixed upon the trail before me, and well protected from the icy wind by the thick fur bound about my body. The tracks I was following puzzled me, for they looked like those of a miniature bear, but they were easy to trail and led directly to an old hollow stub. As there seemed to be no other trail, I decided that this must be the home of the creature, whatever it was. Curious to know what sort of animal had made the tracks and had visited my cabin, I pounded upon the stub and was rewarded by a slight scratching noise from within, and an instant later a queer, quizzical face peered forth from the opening above me and stared down questioningly at the strange being who had knocked upon its home. The sharp nose and bright eyes were visible only for an instant, but the brief glimpse was enough, and I recognized the owner as a raccoon. Well, raccoons were good to eat and their fur was warm, and I made up my mind to capture the ’coon that night. My first thought was to set a trap beside the tree, but a moment’s reflection changed my plans, for I realized that the ’coon would probably return to the cabin again and that it would be far easier to trap him by my own door than by his.

There were still plenty of tracks to be followed, and for several hours I busied myself locating the homes of hares and setting twitch-ups to capture them. Then, as my hands were becoming numb and I feared catching cold in my weak ankle, I retraced my steps to the cabin. Late that afternoon I set a deadfall outside the door for the raccoon, building it like the one in which I had caught the beaver, but furnishing it with a figure-four trigger, and baiting it with scraps of meat.

The next morning I hurried to the door as soon as I awoke and, much to my joy, found that a fine, fat raccoon had fallen a victim to my trap.

I lost no time in skinning him, and dined off broiled ’coon, which I found excellent. Then I set out for the woods to inspect my snares. Several were untouched, two were sprung but contained nothing, but in another a fine, white hare was dangling.

I cannot express the satisfaction which I felt upon the success of my first day’s trapping, for I realized that I would not want for food where animal life was so plentiful and so unaccustomed to man. I knew also that rabbit and ’coon-skins could be made into the warmest and most comfortable of garments.

I was so much encouraged that I went much farther into the woods, set a number of new snares, and returned by another route to the cabin. This brought me close to my old camp and the border of the lake, and as I came out from the edge of the woods to the shore I heard a strange, subdued chuckling sound from beyond a low, brushy point. Wondering what creature was there, I crawled cautiously forward, peered at the little cove beyond, and looked upon a flock of wild ducks sunning themselves at the edge of the lake where a spring kept the water free from ice.

Fitting an arrow to my bow, I rose silently, but, cautious as I was, the birds caught sight of me and instantly took wing with loud quacks of alarm. In a vague hope of bringing one down I fired, but the arrow fell short, and dropped into the lake beyond my reach, and the ducks safely winged their way toward the farther shores. But I minded the loss of my arrow far more than the loss of the ducks, for I had plenty of meat for my present needs and the weather was now cold enough to enable me to keep a supply on hand for a long time. For several days I spent my time setting traps and skinning and tanning the hides, for each morning I found hares in my twitch-ups, and I also succeeded in capturing another raccoon. The tanned rabbit-skins I sewed into rude mittens and a sort of undershirt, the two ’coon-skins provided leggings, and rabbit-skins were made into a cap. As my feet suffered a great deal from the cold, I lined them with rabbit-skin, with the fur inside, and when all this had been accomplished I found I was perfectly protected from the weather as long as I exercised, while my bear-skin robe made a splendid blanket at night, or served as a cloak when I was sitting still during the days.

About two weeks had now elapsed since the first snowfall, my foot was strong enough so that I could walk upon it without a cane, save on rough ground, and I was well clothed in furs and was quite comfortable, and could look forward without fear to spending the winter in the woods, which now seemed inevitable.

To preserve the supply of meat I had suspended the carcasses of the hares on a pole at one side of the cabin, where they were frozen stiff and out of reach of prowling foxes or other creatures. Each evening I set the deadfall by the door to capture any ’coon or other animal which might approach my hut to pick up scraps from my meals. Just as I was snuggling down beneath my bear-skin robe one night I heard a slight thud outside, and, thinking some creature had sprung the deadfall, I threw off the robe and started to go forth to secure my prize. But ere my feet touched the floor I was riveted to the spot and a cold shiver ran down my spine as the silence of the night was pierced by a terrifying, moaning wail, ending in a blood-curdling scream.

For one long second I sat motionless on the edge of my bunk while that awful sound echoed through the night, then, like a frightened child, I ducked under my bear-skin robe, pulled it over my head, and lay huddled and quaking in superstitious terror. For a space there was silence, then some heavy body landed with a crash upon the roof above my bunk, and the awful, banshee-like wail pealed forth within a few inches of my head. A cold sweat broke from my skin, I shivered with abject fear, my hair seemed to rise upon my scalp, and as the last sobbing note of the terrible sound died out and the awful something began tearing at the roof, my nerves gave way, and I shrieked aloud.