CHAPTER VIII
WHAT HAPPENED AT NIGHT
We must go back to the time when Joe and old Runnell started away from Snow Lodge to see what game they could bring down for the next meal or two.
“We haven’t any time to waste,” said the old hunter, as they moved along. “In an hour it will be too dark to shoot at a distance.”
“Shall we take snowshoes along?” asked the youth.
“Not worth while, lad. We’ll try those in the big forest over on the mainland later on.”
The lodge was soon left behind, and old Runnell led the way through some brushwood that skirted the base of the hill.
“There ought to be some rabbits around here,” he said, and had scarcely spoken, when two rabbits popped into view. Bang! went his gun, and both were brought low by the scattering shot.
“Gracious! but you were quick about that!” cried Joe, enthusiastically.
“You don’t want to wait in hunting, Joe. Be sure of what you are shooting at, and then let drive as quick as you can pull trigger.”
On they went, and a few rods farther scared up two other rabbits. Joe now tried his luck, Joel Runnell not firing on purpose. One of the rabbits fell dead, while the other was so badly lamed that Joe caught and killed him with ease.
“Good enough! Now we are even!” exclaimed the old hunter.
“Do you think we shall find any large game here?”
“Hardly. If a deer was near by he’d slide away in jig time as soon as he heard those shots. The most we can hope for are rabbits and birds.”
“I see a squirrel!” cried Joe, a little later.
“Watch where he goes,” returned the old hunter. “Ah, there’s his tree.”
Joe took aim, and the squirrel was brought down just as he was entering his hole. The tree was not a tall one, and Joel Runnell prepared to climb it.
“What are you going to do that for?” asked the youth.
“For the nuts, Joe. They’ll make fine eating during the evenings around the fire.”
It was an easy matter to clean out the hole in the tree – after they had made sure that no other animals were inside. From the place they obtained several quarts of hickory and other nuts, all of which Joel Runnell poured into the game bag he had brought along.
“This is easier than picking ’em from the trees,” he remarked. “And that squirrel will never need them now.”
By the time the top of the hill was gained, it was almost dark, and the snow had begun to fall. At this point they scared up half a dozen birds, and brought down four. Joel Runnell also caught sight of a fox, but the beast got away before he could fire on it.
“We may as well be getting back,” said the old hunter. “It is too dark to look for more game.”
“Suppose we separate?” suggested Joe. “I can take to the right, and you can go to the left. Perhaps one or the other will spot something before we get back to the lodge.”
This was agreed to, and soon Joe found himself alone. As he hurried on as fast as the deep snow permitted, he heard Joel Runnell fire his gun twice in succession.
“He has seen something,” thought the youth. “Hope I have equal luck.”
He was still on high ground when he came to something of a gully. Here the rocks had been swept bare by the wind. As he leaped the gully something sprang up directly in front of him.
What the animal was Joe could not make out. But the unexpected appearance of the beast startled the young hunter, and he leaped back in astonishment. In doing this he missed his footing, and the next instant found himself rolling over the edge of the gully to a snow-covered shelf ten feet below.
“Help! help!” he cried, not once, but half a dozen times.
He had dropped his gun, and was now trying his best to cling fast to the slippery shelf. But his hold was by no means a good one, and he found himself slipping, slipping, slipping, until with a yell he went down, and down, into the darkness and snow far below.
In the meantime, not only Harry and Fred, but also Joel Runnell were hurrying to his assistance. But the darkness and the falling snow made the advance of the three slow. They came together long before the edge of the gully was reached.
“Hello!” cried the old hunter. “Was that Joe calling?”
“It must have been,” answered Harry. “But where is he?”
“He wasn’t with me. When we started back to the lodge we separated. I just shot another brace of squirrels, when I heard him yell.”
“I think the cry came from that direction,” said Fred, pointing with his finger.
“And I think it came from over there,” said Harry, pointing in another direction.
“I think Harry is right,” said old Runnell. “Go slow, boys. There are many pitfalls among the rocks.”
He led the way, and they came after him, spreading out a distance of several rods. Presently they reached the gully, but not at the point where Joe had taken the fall.
“Hello, Joe? Where are you?” called Harry.
No answer came back, and the call was repeated several times. Not a sound broke the stillness of the evening.
“He’s in trouble, that is certain,” said Harry, looking more anxious every minute.
“Perhaps he fell over the rocks, and broke his neck,” put in Fred.
“Oh, Fred, do you think he did?”
“Let us hope for the best, lads,” broke in Joel Runnell.
“If he wasn’t badly hurt he’d answer us,” went on Harry. “I wish we had the lantern.”
“I’ll go back for it,” said Fred, and hurried for the lodge without further words.
Joel Runnell had started along the edge of a ravine, with his face close to the rocks and snow. Now he came to a halt.
“Here are some footprints,” he declared. “Wait till I strike a light.”
He lit a match, and with this set fire to a dry pine bough. The footprints were there plain enough.
“Joe!” he called, sharply. “Joe, are you below?”
“Yes,” came faintly to his ears.
“He’s here!” shouted the old hunter.
“Where?” and now Harry came up quickly.
“He’s down below.”
Harry bent over the dark opening.
“Joe, are you badly hurt?” he questioned.
“I – I guess not. But my – my wind is g-g-gone!”
“We’ll soon have you up.”
“We can’t do it without a rope,” said old Runnell. “Better go back to the lodge for one.”
Harry caught Fred just coming away with the lighted lantern. The rope was quickly procured, and both sped back to the gully. Then Harry was lowered, taking the light with him.
He found Joe sitting on a ledge of rocks, his feet in the snow. One hand was scratched and bleeding, and there was blood on one of his cheeks.
“It was a nasty fall, I can tell you that,” said Joe, when he felt able to talk. “When I came down I thought it was all up with me.”
“You can be thankful you didn’t break any bones, Joe,” returned his brother, tenderly.
A sling was made, and Joe was hoisted up by old Runnell and Fred, and then Harry came up, carrying the shotgun. By this time it was pitch-dark on all sides, and the snow was coming down thickly.
“It’s good we have the lantern,” observed Harry. “It is going to be no easy job getting back to the lodge.”
Joel Runnell led the way, and the boys followed, with Joe in the middle leaning on the others’ shoulders. Progress was slow, and it took the best part of an hour to reach Snow Lodge.
“Jumping bullfrogs! if I didn’t leave the door wide open!” cried Fred, in consternation.
“Well, we’ll forgive you this time,” laughed Joe Runnell. “But don’t let it happen again.”
The lodge was cold, but with the door shut tight and a good fire the temperature soon arose. Then Fred slipped down to the lake, and brought in the fish that had been caught.
“Not so bad,” said the old hunter, as he looked the catch over. “Reckon we’ll have enough to eat for a day or two.”
Before retiring that night Joe washed his bruises and bathed them with some arnica that was in the medicine case. This eased the wounds a great deal, and in a few days he felt as well as ever.
It snowed steadily the whole of the night, and toward morning the wind arose and sent the snow flying against the lodge until it was piled almost to the top of the door. The thermometer went down ten degrees, and all hands were glad enough to hug the fire.
“Phew! but this storm is a corker,” exclaimed Fred. “I’m glad we haven’t got to travel in it.”
“We needn’t stir until it clears off,” said Joel Runnell. “That will give Joe a chance to mend.”
Breakfast was late, and they took their own time in eating the fish and potatoes that had been prepared. After this they gazed out of the window for a while, and then sat down to play at dominoes and checkers, both games having been brought along by Fred for just such an emergency.
Yet with it all the day passed slowly, and the boys were not sorry when, at nightfall, the snowing ceased, and the wind also fell.
“It’s going to be a clear day to-morrow,” the old hunter predicted. “We ought to have some fine sport.”
It was not yet nine o’clock when the boys and the old hunter retired for the night. The fire was fixed with care, so that no sparks might set fire to the lodge.
It did not take long for the boys to get to sleep. Each occupied a separate bunk in the sleeping apartment, while old Runnell stretched himself on the floor in the living-room.
Fred had been asleep about an hour, when he awoke with a start. What had aroused him he could not tell, until a peculiar sensation along one of his lower limbs attracted his attention.
“What in the world can that be?” he asked himself. “Am I getting a chill, or is it rheumatism?”
He caught his breath, and on the instant his heart almost stopped beating from fright. Something was in the bunk; something that was crawling over his lower limbs and up to his breast!
“It’s a snake!” he thought. “It’s a snake! If I dare to move it will sting me! Can it be a rattler?”
He was on the point of screaming, but could not bring himself to do it. The cold beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead. In those few seconds he lived an hour of anguish. Then he made a swift clutch at the object through the blanket, and leaped out upon the floor.
“A snake! A snake!” he yelled. “Help me! Shoot him, somebody! A snake has me by the leg! He’s stinging me this minute! I’m a dead boy!”
CHAPTER IX
AT A DEER HUNT
In a moment there was a wild commotion throughout the lodge. All of the others sprang up, and reached for their weapons.
“What is it, a bear?” gasped Harry.
“A snake! a snake!” screamed Fred. “Save me, before he stings me!”
The lantern had been turned low. Now Joe turned it up, while Joel Runnell kicked the fire into a blaze. In the meantime, Fred pulled both the blanket and the reptile from him, and cast them upon the floor.
“Let me get at him,” said old Runnell, and he stepped into the sleeping room as the snake crawled from under the blanket and started across the floor for a hole in the corner.
Bang! it was a hasty shot, and in that confined space it made the ears of all the boys ring. For the time being, the smoke was so thick nobody could see, and more than one began to cough.
“Did you – you fetch him?” faltered Fred. He felt so weak in the lower limbs that he had to rest on the edge of a bunk for support.
“Think I did,” was the laconic reply of the old hunter. He held the double-barreled gun ready for a second shot.
But this was unnecessary, for as the smoke cleared away it was seen that the snake had been literally cut to pieces by the dose of shot. The tail still whipped over the floor, and, catching it up, the old hunter threw it on the back of the fire, and a moment later the head and the bits of body followed.
“Was it a rattler?” questioned Harry.
“No, it was only an ordinary everyday snake,” answered Joel Runnell. “I reckon the heat warmed him into life. But he scared you, didn’t he, Fred?”
“Well-er – it wasn’t very pleasant,” answered the stout youth. “I don’t want another such bunkmate.”
“I guess none of us do,” came from Joe. “Ugh! it makes one shiver to think of it.”
“I’m going to search around for more,” said Harry, and took up the lantern. The others helped him, but no more snakes were to be found.
As Joel Runnell had predicted, New Year’s day proved clear, and the bright sun, shining on the snow, was fairly dazzling.
“We’ll go out after dinner,” said the old hunter. “The sun will soon make the top of the snow right for snow-shoeing,” and so it proved.
The boys were anxious to try the snowshoes, or skis, as they are called in certain parts of the country. They had already tried them around the yard at home, with varying success. Joel Runnell was an expert in using them, and he gave them all the advice he deemed necessary.
“Take your time, and make sure of what you are doing,” he said. “If you try to hurry at the start, you’ll surely take a tumble. Swiftness comes only with practice.”
It had been decided that they should cross to the mainland on a hunt for deer. About two miles and a half away was a cove to which the deer came regularly at certain seasons of the year. This was known, however, to nobody but Joel Runnell, and he took good care to keep the fact to himself.
An early dinner was had, and they started off about midday, after closing up the lodge and putting a wooden pin through the hasp of the door. A rough board was nailed over the open window, so that no wild animal might leap through to rummage their stores.
“Now for a nice deer apiece!” exclaimed Joe, as they made their way to the lake shore.
“I must say you don’t want much,” said Harry. “I guess we’ll be lucky if we get one or two all told.”
“Nothing like hoping for the best,” grinned old Runnell. “It might be that we’d get two each, you know.”
“I want a good picture of a deer as much as anything,” went on Harry, who had his camera swung from his shoulder.
“Humph! that’s all well enough, but we can’t live on photos,” grumbled Fred. “A nice juicy bit of venison will just suit me to death after such a tramp as this is going to be.”
As soon as the thick undergrowth was left behind, they stopped and donned their snowshoes. Out on the lake the snow lay in an unbroken mass for miles. Over this they found snowshoe walking to be comparatively easy.
“Snowshoes are all right on a level,” old Runnell explained. “It is going up-hill and coming down that tests one’s skill.”
“Oh, I think this is lots of fun!” cried Harry, and started to run. All went well for fifty yards, when he struck an extra high drift of snow and pitched into it headlong.
“Oh, for a snap-shot!” sang out Joe, merrily. “Harry, lend me the camera until I press the button on you.”
“Not much!” spluttered his brother. “Wuow! But that was a cold plunge!” he added, as he freed himself of the snow. “Tell you what, there is more science in using these things than one imagines.”
The edge of the cove was covered with pines and spruces, all hanging low with their weight of snow. Back of this fringe was a small opening, filled with young saplings.
“The deer have been around here, that’s certain,” said Joel Runnell, as he pointed to the saplings. “See how they have been peeling off the bark.”
He told them to look to their firearms, and they did so, while Harry made certain that his camera was ready for use. Then they continued their journey, with eyes and ears on the alert for the first appearance of any game.
It was all of an hour before the old hunter called a halt. He pointed to a track in the snow just ahead of them.
“Deer!” he said, in a half whisper. “Five of ’em. Go slow now, and make no noise.”
At this announcement the heart of each of the youths began to flutter, and they clutched their guns tightly, while Harry brought his camera around to the front.
There was a slight rise of ground in front of them, at the top of which was a belt of brushwood. To the right was a hollow, and to the left something of a cliff.
The brushwood gained, Joel Runnell, who was in the lead, motioned for the boys to crouch low. They did as ordered, and came up to him as silently as so many ghosts.
The sight that met their gaze thrilled them to the core. The five deer were just beyond, feeding on the tender bark of the young trees in that vicinity. They were knee-deep in the snow. A magnificent old buck was leader of the herd.
“Let me take a picture first!” whispered Harry, and swung his camera into position. The sun was shining directly on the game, and the grouping could not have been better. Click! and the snap-shot was taken. Then, to make sure of a picture, he took a second shot from a slightly different position.
As the second click was heard, the old buck raised his head to look around and listen. The wind was blowing from the deer toward the hunters, so the buck scented nothing unusual.
“Joe, take the one on the left; Harry, try for that on the right; Fred, shoot the one near the big rock. I’ll take the buck,” whispered Joel Runnell.
All agreed, and the firearms were brought into position. Fred was trembling as with “buck fever,” and Harry was equally excited.
“When I count three, fire,” said the old hunter. “Ready? One, two, three!”
Crack! crack! bang went the rifles and the shotguns, in a scattering fire. On the instant the old buck bounded into the air and fell lifeless, with a bullet through his left eye. The deer Joe had aimed at was mortally wounded, and fell where it had stood, kicking and plunging, and sending the snow and ice flying in all directions.
Harry and Fred had not been so fortunate, although each had “nipped” his mark, Fred landing some shot in the deer’s side, and Harry striking in the hind quarter. In the meantime, the fifth deer turned, and sped from sight with the swiftness of the wind.
“Hurrah! we’ve got two at least!” shouted Joe, and ran forward to finish his prize. This was an easy matter, and a second shot caused the deer to stop struggling at once.
“Look out for those other chaps!” yelled Joel Runnell, suddenly. “They are going to attack us!”
He was right. The two wounded deer were hurt enough to turn ugly, and now each came on with eyes that were full of fight. One sprang at Joe, and with a well-directed blow sent that youth sprawling headlong over the game he had brought low. The second charged on Fred, knocking the stout youth over likewise and then preparing to gore him with all the power of those cruel-looking prongs.
CHAPTER X
AMONG THE WOLVES
It was a moment of extreme peril, and each of the party realized it fully. A wounded deer is an ugly creature to deal with at the best, and these animals were both wounded and half starved, for the recent heavy falls of snow had cut them off from nearly all of their food supplies.
“Jump, Joe!” screamed Harry, in terror. “Jump, or you will be killed!”
“Save me!” screamed Fred. “The deer is going to bore me through!”
The words had scarcely been uttered, when Joel Runnell’s rifle rang out, and the deer that had attacked Fred fell over, paralyzed from a bullet through its backbone. Then Fred scrambled up, and ran for dear life down the slope leading to the lake.
“Come on!” he yelled. “Come on! I’ve had enough of deer hunting! Come on, before all of us are killed!”
Harry could not bear to see Joe in such dire peril, and leaping up to the side of the deer he discharged the second barrel of his shotgun with all possible speed.
The aim was none of the best, but some of the shot penetrated the animal’s hind leg, and caused it to start back limping. At this, Joe tried to scramble up, but found himself too weak to do so. The deer then turned upon Harry, and that youth met the onslaught by hitting the game over the head with his gun-stock.
“That’s the way to do it!” shouted Joel Runnell, who was coming up as fast as he could, hunting knife in hand. “Don’t let him get away to buck you. Crowd him up!” And Harry crowded the deer that was now inclined to flee. A moment later the old hunter was at hand, and, catching the game by one prong, plunged the keen knife into the upturned throat; and then the brief but fierce fight came to an end.
“Say, but that was hot!” gasped Joe, when he at last arose. “I was afraid I was a goner, sure!”
“Where is Fred?” asked old Runnell, looking around as he reloaded.
“He ran away,” answered Harry. He raised his voice: “Fred, where are you? Come back, the fight is over.”
“Are those deer dead?” came in a trembling voice from a distance.
“Yes.”
At this news the stout youth came limping back, one snowshoe on and the other under his arm. He looked rather sheepish.
“Thought you’d leg it, did you?” said old Runnell, quizzically. “Can’t say I blame you much.”
“I – I guess I was looking for that other deer,” answered Fred, lamely. His companions could not help but smile, but they did not let the stout youth see it.
“Well, we got one apiece, after all,” said Joel Runnell, after a pause, during which they made sure that all of the game were dead. “Boys, I can tell you that we’ve been lucky. It isn’t likely that we’ll make a better haul than this all the time we are out.”
“Excepting we get on the track of a moose,” said Joe.
“So far as I know, there are no longer any moose in this vicinity. I haven’t shot one for four years. As for meat, there is nothing better than the deer we have just brought down.”
How to get the game to the lodge was the next problem, and after a conference it was decided to pile two of the deer on a drag, and take them over at once. The others were hung high in a tree, so as to protect them from other wild animals.
“I reckon we’ve had sport enough for one day,” said Joel Runnell. “By the time we get these two deer to the lodge everybody will be fagged out.”
For drags they cut long sweeps of pine. On these the deer were tightly bound with ropes, and while the old hunter and Fred pulled one, Joe and Harry pulled the other.
As they reached the edge of the lake Joe caught sight of some game in a nearby tree. They were partridge, and he and old Runnell brought down six. The others flew away with a rush that was exceedingly noisy.
“Now we can have a potpie worth eating!” exclaimed Joe. “I’ll make one just like Grandma Anderson’s.”
To Harry, who was tired out, the walk over the lake appeared endless, but just as the sun was setting they came in sight of the lodge.
“Home again!” sang out Joe. “Home again, and glad – Hello!”
He stopped short, and looked at the snow before him. There were prints that filled him with wonder.
“What is it, Joe?” asked Fred.
“Unless I am mistaken these marks were made by the hoofs of a horse!”
“They were,” said Joel Runnell, after an examination. “Somebody has been around here on horseback.”
“Perhaps we’ve got a visitor,” suggested Harry. “Let’s hurry up and see.”
Increasing their speed they soon reached the lodge. The hoof prints were there, and they could plainly see where somebody had leaped from the horse and entered the building.
“Hope it wasn’t a thief,” said Joe.
The door was fastened just as they had left it, and inside of the lodge nothing appeared to be disturbed. But on the table was a note, pinned down by a fork stuck in the crack of the boards. The note ran as follows:
“You ain’t wanted here, and you had better clear out before Hiram Skeetles has the law on you.
“Daniel Marcy.”
“Well, listen to that!” ejaculated Joe. “What right has Dan Marcy to leave such a message as this?”
“Evidently Hiram Skeetles got him to do it,” said Joel Runnell. “Remember, Skeetles claims to own the island.”
“But he doesn’t own it,” answered Joe, warmly. “And I, for one, shan’t budge.”
“Nor I,” added Harry.
“So say we all!” sang out Fred. “Just let Marcy or old Skeetles show himself, and we’ll give him a piece of our mind, eh, fellows?”
“Nobody ever tried to stop my hunting here before,” said Joel Runnell. “As I told you before, so far as I know, the island is under the care of Sheriff Clowes. As to who owns the island, that is for the courts to decide.”
“Then we’ll quit on notice from the sheriff, and not before,” said Joe.
“It’s a wonder Dan Marcy didn’t steal something,” put in Harry. “I don’t think he’d be above doing such a thing.”
“Oh, don’t paint him any blacker than he is, Harry,” returned his brother; nevertheless, all looked around the lodge with interest, to make sure that nothing was missing.
“I suppose Marcy has gone to old Skeetles to report,” said Joel Runnell, later on, while they were broiling a choice cut of deer meat. “And if that’s so we’ll hear from him again before long.”
The hunt had given everybody a good appetite, and they sat over the well-cooked venison a long time, praising the meal and talking over the prospects for more sport. There was a good deal of enthusiasm, and, in the midst of this, Marcy and Hiram Skeetles were for the time being forgotten.
It being New Year’s night they did not go to bed as early as usual, but instead sat up eating nuts and listening to several good hunting stories old Runnell had to tell. They also talked of home, until Harry grew just a bit homesick and changed the subject.
With nothing to make them get up early, all hands slept the following morning until after eight o’clock. The old hunter was the first to arise, and he had the breakfast well under way before the others rolled out.
“I’ve been a-thinking it over,” said old Runnell. “Perhaps one of us had better stay at the lodge while the others go for that other deer meat. Then, if Marcy comes, or Hiram Skeetles, there will be somebody here to talk to him.”
“I’d just as lief stay,” said Fred, who did not relish hauling the load of meat to Snow Lodge.
“Supposing you and Runnell both stay,” suggested Joe. “I am sure Harry and I can get the deer over without much trouble.”
The matter was discussed while they were eating breakfast, and Joe’s plan was adopted. A little later he and Harry set off, each with his gun, and Harry with his ever-present camera in addition. So far Harry had taken, besides the game, several pictures of the lodge and its surroundings, and had already laid away a strip of six films for development when he should get home.
“I hope we’re able to bring down something on this trip,” said Harry, as they trudged along over the lake.
“We can’t expect to bring in something every trip we make, Harry. If we did we’d be the greatest Gun Club in the United States. Many a hunter goes out all day and doesn’t so much as see a squirrel.”
“Oh, I know that. I really think that so far our luck has been remarkably good.”
“It won’t keep up. Our shooting in this vicinity will scare the game away from the lodge. As the days go by we’ll have to go farther and farther away for something worth bringing down.”
The journey across the lake was made without incident, but scarcely had they struck the mainland when a distant howl greeted their ears.
“What is that?” came from Harry.
“It’s the howl of a wolf,” answered his brother. “I shouldn’t wonder but what he has scented the deer meat.”
“If he has we may have some trouble in getting the deer home.”
“Oh, I guess we can easily take care of one wolf.”
“But there may be more, Joe. Wolves generally travel in packs, you know.”
“Yes, but I don’t hear any others.”
“He may be calling his mates.”
They moved forward up the rise, and presently came in sight of the game. Under the tree where the deer was strung up sat two wolves, gazing wistfully at the meat.
“Two of them here, and one below!” cried Joe. “That makes three.”
“Wait! let me get a picture!” whispered Harry, and brought his camera into use without delay. It certainly made a good scene, and he got as close as he could ere he pressed the button. Then he took up his shotgun and blazed away, and Joe did the same.
Neither of the wolves was much hurt, and both limped into the woods growling savagely. The growl was answered from a distance, and in a very few minutes four other wolves appeared, ranging themselves in a semicircle at what they considered a safe distance.
“The impudent beggars!” murmured Joe, and, bringing his shotgun up, he let drive at the nearest wolf. This time his aim was true, and the wolf leaped up, to fall dead. Instantly the other wolves fell upon their dead companion, rending the carcass limb from limb.
“I must say I don’t like this,” declared Harry, in something of a nervous voice. “It looks as if they meant business. As soon as that wolf is gone they’ll turn on us again.”
“Here comes a whole pack of wolves!” shouted Joe.
He was right, a distant yelping and howling proclaimed their approach. Soon they burst into view, at least twenty strong, and in a twinkling the two young hunters found themselves completely surrounded!