CHAPTER XXI

THE FIGHT OF THE PINE MARTENS

“Now, boys,” said Joel Runnell on the following morning, after all of the young hunters had enjoyed a good night’s rest, “I’m going to get you at something new.”

“What is it?” queried several, in chorus.

“So far all the game we have had has either been caught by a hook and line or brought down with a gun. Now I’m going to show you how to set traps for rabbits and other small animals, and also how to spear some big fish through a hole in the ice.”

“That’s the talk!” cried Joe. “I’ve been wanting to know something about traps for years.”

“Well, a small trap isn’t much of a thing to make,” answered the old hunter.

“I know how to make one kind of a rabbit trap,” came from Bart. “My uncle showed me how to make it.”

“There are a good many kinds of traps, aren’t there?” asked Fred.

At this Joel Runnell smiled.

“I should say so, my boy. I can make at least a dozen kinds, and I once knew a hunter from Canada who boasted of being able to make forty-six different kinds of traps and death-falls.”

“Gracious! that man hadn’t much use for a gun,” was Harry’s comment.

“It’s a good thing to know something about traps,” went on the old hunter. “There might come a time when you were out in the woods and mighty hungry, without a single charge of powder left. In such a case a trap may keep you from starving to death.”

The old hunter told them that he would first set a few rabbit and squirrel traps, and after that a death-fall for larger animals.

“I think I can locate the run of the rabbits on this island pretty well,” said he.

A good hot breakfast was had, and as soon as it was over Teddy insisted on washing up the few dishes which had been used. Then off they set in a crowd, satisfied that nobody would come to disturb their new shelter during an absence of only an hour or two.

Joel Runnell led the way around the cliff and then into a thicket where the pine trees fairly touched the ground.

“Here are hundreds of traps fairly waiting for us,” he said.

“I don’t see any,” said Teddy, gazing around vacantly.

“You’ll see one in a few minutes.”

Finding a spot that suited him, Joel Runnell cleared away some of the snow, which was but a few inches deep. Then, with a hatchet he had brought along, he cut two short sticks and near the top of each cut a sharp notch, the opening pointing downward.

“Now I’ll drive these two sticks into the ground, about eight inches apart,” said he; and put them down until the notches he had cut were less than a foot from the soil. “Joe,” he added, “you cut a strong, flat stick that will reach from one notch to the other.”

While Joe was doing this, old Runnell put down another stick, this time with a sharp upper point. The three sticks in the ground formed a triangle. Then a stick was cut, sharp at one end and blunt at the other. This the old hunter called the catch stick.

Several feet away was a sapling and this was readily bent down in the direction of the imperfect trap. To the sapling Joel Runnell tied a stout cord and to the lower end of the cord fastened a bit of wire in the form of a running loop.

“Now we’ll proceed to set our trap,” he said, and taking the catch stick he placed the blunt end under the stick Joe had put in the two notches and balanced the sharp end on the equally sharp end of the stick in front.

The sapling was now bent over until the loop, or noose, was low to the ground, between the two sticks in the ground and that in the notches. Then the string, just above the noose, was fastened to the blunt end of the catch stick.

“Now all we’ve got to do is to bait our trap and it will be ready for business,” went on Joel Runnell, and around the sharp stick in the ground fastened some extra tender twigs of brushwood he had found on the way. “You see, the minute Mr. Rabbit begins to eat the twigs, he’ll shake the stick. That will make the catch stick slip down at the sharp end. Up will fly the blunt end and so will the noose, with Mr. Rabbit dangling in it by the neck or by the body.”

“But he may go at the bait from the back,” said Bart.

“The trap is done, but we’ve got to persuade Mr. Rabbit to go at the bait from the front,” said the old hunter, and banked up the snow and dead brushwood around the three sides, leaving only the spot by the loop clear.

When the trap was completed they walked off and at a distance set another. By this time all the young hunters were at it, and in less than two hours nine traps, large and small, had been set and baited in various ways.

“If we wanted to, we could make some box traps for birds,” said old Runnell. “But I guess you won’t care for them this trip. It’s better to catch birds in the summer.”

“I’d rather not catch them at all,” said Fred. “They are not much good for food—that is, they don’t go aground like rabbits, or turkeys, or a deer. I don’t believe in killing them just for the fun of it.”

“What is a death-fall?” questioned Link.

“A death-fall is simply a heavy trap, for killing big game,” answered the old hunter. “Some are made simply of a heavy log, so placed that when the bait is disturbed the log comes down and crushes the beast. Others are made with a tough stick and a big rock.”

“Some hunters dig pitfalls for bears, don’t they?” asked one of the boys.

“Yes, but it’s not likely we’ll catch a bear in any such hole—they are too scarce around here. Besides, pitfalls are dangerous. Some years ago a hunter I knew fairly well fell into a pitfall dug the season before by some other hunters, and he broke his leg and two ribs.”

“It was mean to leave the pitfall unmarked,” said Joe.

“When you are in the woods there are several things worth remembering, lads. One is, never leave a fire without you’re certain it won’t do damage.”

“Yes, we’ve learned what fire can do,” said Fred, grimly.

“Another thing is, don’t fool with your firearms, and don’t point a gun at the other fellow just because you think the gun isn’t loaded. And another thing, never point your gun at yourself or at anybody else when you are climbing a fence, or crawling through the brushwood. The hammer may catch on something and somebody may be killed.”

“Yes, I knew of a boy who was killed that way,” said Harry. “He was climbing a rail fence and the charge nearly took the top of his head off.”

“And finally,” said Joel Runnell, “when you leave a camp, don’t break up everything in sight just for the sport of it, thinking you’ll never come back that way again. You may want to come back the very next season, or, if you don’t, somebody else may happen that way and it will be a pleasure for that party to find things in shape for use, just as we found Snow Lodge ready for use.”

By the time the young hunters had returned to the shelter the wind was rising once more, and they were glad enough to sit around the fire and get warm. While they ate their midday meal Joel Runnel explained many traps and their workings to the boys, and told of what animals he had caught from time to time by such means.

They were just preparing to go out for the afternoon when Link, who was at the doorway, called softly to his companions.

“Don’t make any noise,” he said. “I think there is some kind of an animal around.”

“Is it a bear?” queried Bart.

“I don’t know what it is.”

“Where did you hear it, Link?” asked Joe.

“Down near the lake. It made a very odd sound.”

By this time all had reached for their guns and were coming forth from the shelter.

“Come with me, Link,” said old Runnell. “You others hang back a little. We’ll find out what it is that is prowling around. I don’t believe it’s a bear.”

With extreme caution Joel Runnell led the way in the direction Link had pointed out. The snow covered the rough rocks so that walking was extremely difficult.

Just as they were to pass from under some pine trees into the open there came a cat-like cry from a tree to their right. Wheeling around, the old hunter caught sight of two animals facing each other on a sloping tree limb. Each animal was rather larger than a good sized house cat and had a long, bushy tail and short, stout legs.

“What are they, cats?” whispered Link.

“No, pine martens,” returned the old hunter, in a low voice. “Get back and perhaps we’ll see some fun.”

He caught Link by the arm, and both drew back a few paces. Then the others were motioned to keep silent.

The two pine martens soon began to growl and spit at each other exactly as do two house cats when on a back fence to settle a long-standing dispute. They were so much in earnest that neither noted the approach of the hunters, although usually a pine marten is very shy and quick to detect danger.

“What a battle!” remarked Joe, when each had made a savage claw at the other. “You’d almost think they were two old Toms, wouldn’t you?”

“Perhaps you’d better heave a boot-jack at them,” came dryly from Bart.

“Hush, lads,” put in Joel Runnell. “Be prepared to fire the minute they try to run away. Remember, they may disappear like magic.”

“Let me shoot one,” pleaded Link. “I haven’t had any chance at game yet.”

“And let me try for the other,” came from Bart.

“All right. But take careful aim, or the martens will get away from you.”