CHAPTER XI
CONFRONTED BY THE ENEMY
Fred had broken one of his snowshoes while running away from the deer, and Joel Runnell’s first work after Harry and Joe had left Snow Lodge was to repair this.
“You want to be more careful in the future,” said the old hunter, when the job was finished. “So far you have tumbled into nothing worse than a snowbank. If you should slide over a cliff and land upon the rocks, you might get badly hurt.”
“I intend to be careful in the future,” answered the youth. “I am sorry I ran away – now,” he added, regretfully.
“Well, lad, as to that, it’s often much safer to run than to stand your ground. I dodged an old buck once for half an hour, and then escaped only by the skin of my teeth. Something got the matter with my gun, and it wouldn’t go off.”
“Did you kill him?”
“Yes, two days later. I made up my mind I’d have him, and I traveled nigh on thirty miles to lay him low.”
After the necessary work around the lodge was concluded time hung heavily on Fred’s hands, and he decided to try his luck once more at fishing.
“It’s better than doing nothing,” he said.
“Well, it’s all right, only don’t fall into the hole, and get drowned,” cautioned Joel Runnell. And then Fred disappeared with his outfit, whistling merrily.
Left to himself, Joel Runnell proceeded to split some more wood, and pile it up in a corner of the living-room. To his experienced eye he could see that another snowstorm was not far off, and how long it would last there was no telling.
“We’ve got meat enough,” he reasoned to himself. “And so long as we have wood, too, there will be no cause to worry.”
The thermometer had gone down once more, and he had to work at a lively rate to keep warm. He wondered how Fred was making out with his fishing, and grinned to himself.
“Wager he won’t stay there long,” he muttered. “If he does, he’ll be frozen stiff.”
The old hunter had just carried in his sixth armful of wood, when a shadow crossed the open doorway, and looking up he found himself confronted by Hiram Skeetles.
The real estate dealer was a tall, thin man, with a leathery face and broken snags of yellowish teeth. He chewed tobacco constantly, and the corners of his mouth were much discolored in consequence.
“So ye hain’t taken my warnin’, I see,” snarled Skeetles.
“Hello, Skeetles; what brings you?” demanded Joel Runnell, as cheerily as he could.
“Ye know well enough what brung me, Joel Runnell. Didn’t I warn ye not to trespass on my property?”
“I’ve told you that I don’t know as it is your property. So far I think it belongs to the old Crawley estate, and it’s in the sheriff’s care.”
“It ain’t so; it’s mine, every foot of it.” Hiram Skeetles’ eyes blazed. “I want for you to git out, an’ be quick about it.”
“And I ain’t a-going,” answered Joel Runnell, doggedly.
“You ain’t?”
“No.” The old hunter sat down by the fire, with his gun across his knees. “Now, what are you going to do about it?”
“Did you see the notice I had Dan Marcy leave?”
“I did; but that counts for nothing with me.”
“I’ll have the law on ye!”
“Perhaps you will, and perhaps you won’t, Hiram.”
“Don’t Hiram me, Joel Runnell. I don’t put myself on a level with a vagabond o’ a game stealer like you. If – ”
“Hold on there, Skeetles. I am no game stealer, and if you say so – ” The old hunter had leaped up, gun in hand.
“Don’t – don’t ye shoot me!” howled the real estate dealer.
“Then don’t say such things again. Every bit of game I bring in I come by honestly.”
“Where are those Westmore chaps?” questioned Hiram Skeetles, deeming it best to shift the subject.
“They have gone out to bring in some game we shot yesterday.”
“Did they see the notice?”
“They did, and they care for it as little as I do.”
“Think they can ride over me, eh?” Hiram Skeetles took a turn up and down the apartment. “Must say the lot of ye are carryin’ matters with a high hand.”
“What did you do with Dan Marcy?” asked Joel Runnell, suddenly.
“That’s my business.”
“If you brought him along to worry us you did a very foolish thing,” went on the old hunter. “I haven’t forgotten how he tried to run down my girl with his ice boat.”
“Your gal had a right to git out o’ the way.”
“I won’t argue the point. But if Marcy worries me any more he’ll get something he won’t like.”
“We’ll see about this. I’ll call on the sheriff,” said Hiram Skeetles; and without another word he passed out of the lodge, and made his way toward the upper end of the lake.
Anxious to learn what would be the man’s next move, Joel Runnell followed. But Skeetles broke into a run, and soon disappeared from view among a patch of woods.
In thoughtful mood the old hunter walked back to the lodge, and then toward where Fred was fishing. He found the youth safe, and surprised to learn that the real estate dealer had showed himself in that out-of-the-way place.
“He doesn’t like it that Joe and Harry are here,” said Fred. “I really think he’s afraid they’ll find that pocketbook he says he once lost.”
“I hope they do find it – if it’s got those missing papers in it,” was the answer.
Fred had already caught several fish, and said he intended to catch as many more before he quit, no matter how cold it grew.
“I’ll show them that I can catch fish even if I’m no good at deer hunting,” he explained.
“Have you seen anything in the shape of game since you came down?”
“I saw something that looked like a black bear. But he didn’t come near here.”
“A bear? Where?”
Fred pointed out the direction, and Joel Runnell started off to see if the report was true. But he could find nothing, and in half an hour he returned.
“You must have been mistaken, Fred. Perhaps it was nothing but a shadow.”
“Well, I was busy fishing, and didn’t notice particularly,” returned the boy.
He said he wanted to catch just two fish more, and would then return to the lodge.
“All right, but don’t get frozen stiff doing it,” answered Joel Runnell.
“When do you think Joe and Harry will return?”
“They ought to be along inside of an hour. They’ll find that load a pretty heavy one.”
“I heard some shooting over there a while ago. But it has stopped now.”
To warm himself, the old hunter walked briskly in the direction of Snow Lodge. He felt uneasy; why, he could not explain.
“Those boys may have gotten into trouble,” he thought. “Perhaps I had better slip after them and find out.”
As he came in sight of the lodge an exclamation of astonishment burst from his lips. All of their traps and stores had been tumbled in a heap on the edge of the clearing, and the door was tightly closed, and the broken-out window partly barred.
“This is Skeetles’ work!” he muttered.
“Stop where you are!” came in the real estate dealer’s voice, as Runnell walked to the door and tried it, to find it locked. “If you attempt to come in you’ll get shot.”
“That’s the talk,” was added by Dan Marcy. “Possession is nine points of the law, and we want you to take your stuff and be gone!”
“But see here – ” began Joel Runnell.
“We won’t argy with ye!” snarled Hiram Skeetles, as he appeared at the window, gun in hand. “Clear out, an’ be quick about it.”
Joel Runnell was about to say something far from complimentary to the pair, when a yell from the lake shore reached his ears. Fred was running toward him with a face full of fear.
“The bear! The bear!” he yelled. “He’s after me!”
CHAPTER XII
DRIVEN FROM THE LODGE
As soon as he heard Fred’s cry, Joel Runnell forgot for the time being his trouble with Hiram Skeetles and Dan Marcy.
“A bear?” he repeated. “Where is he?”
“He’s coming right after me!” yelled the stout youth. “Shoot him, or we’ll both be chewed up!”
The old hunter had his rifle in his hands, and now he ran to meet Fred, who was coming up with his fishing rod and a string of fish. The stout youth was tremendously excited, and, reaching the pile of traps on the ground, he went sprawling headlong, while his catch scattered in all directions.
“I see him!” exclaimed Joel Runnell, as the bear came into view, a shaggy black fellow, weighing several hundred pounds. The animal was among the trees, and to get a fair shot at the creature was next to impossible.
Boy and beast had come up to Snow Lodge on the side upon which the partly barred window was located, so it was easy for Hiram Skeetles and Dan Marcy to note what was taking place without exposing themselves to danger.
“Is it really a bear?” questioned the real estate dealer, in a nervous voice.
“It is,” announced Marcy. “And a right big fellow, too. Like as not he’ll give ’em a stiff fight. He looks hungry enough to tackle most anything.”
“Do you – er – think he can get in here?”
“Not unless he comes in by this window, and we can shoot him if he tries that.”
“Let us try to close up the opening,” came from Hiram Skeetles, and he hurried to the pile of wood to get a stick for that purpose.
In the meantime the bear had reached the edge of the clearing, and there he stood, upright, viewing the situation. The smell of fish was tantalizing to his empty stomach, but the sight of two human beings instead of one made him hold back.
Bringing up his rifle, Joel Runnell took the best aim possible and fired. When the smoke cleared away, it was seen that the bear had been hit in the front leg, but not seriously wounded. With a growl of pain and rage, the disappointed beast dropped on all fours, turned, and sped into the woods with all the speed at his command.
“Whe – where is he? Did you kill him?” gasped Fred, as he scrambled to his feet.
“No; I only wounded him,” was the answer, as the old hunter reloaded the rifle with all speed. “Wait here until I see if I can’t lay him low.”
“But supposing he comes back here?”
“I’ll be on his heels. You can take your shotgun and climb into a tree if you wish.”
Without another word Joel Runnell ran off in the direction the bear had taken, and soon the trees, bushes and deep snow hid him completely from view.
“It’s funny he told me to climb a tree,” mused Fred. “It’s a good deal safer in the lodge than anywhere else, and a heap sight warmer, too,” and picking up his fish, he started to go forward, when he stopped short and gazed at the traps and stores in astonishment. “What on earth made Runnell throw these things out?” he mused.
“Keep back there, Fred Rush!” came in Dan Marcy’s voice from the lodge window. “You can’t come in here, nohow!”
“Hello!” ejaculated Fred. “So you are back. Did you throw out our things in this fashion?”
“We did,” put in Hiram Skeetles. “And what is more, they are going to stay out. We’ve given you warning, and now I want the whole crowd of ye to clear out.”
“Well, I never!” gasped the stout youth. “Of all the cheeky things to do – ”
“It wasn’t cheeky at all,” interrupted the real estate dealer. “As I told Runnell, this is my land, and I won’t have none o’ ye on it.”
“Won’t you let me in to warm myself?”
“No.”
“Then all I’ve got to say, Hiram Skeetles, is that you are a brute.”
“I don’t want none o’ your talk, Fred Rush.”
“You claim to own this island, but we don’t think so, any more than we think you own the old Anderson claim.”
This latter remark appeared to make Hiram Skeetles furious.
“Bringin’ that up again, eh?” he shouted. “I reckon as how them Westmore boys set ye up to it. But I know what’s mine, and I intend to keep it. Now you clear out, and be mighty quick about it.”
“What will you do if I don’t go?”
“I’ll make it warm, I can tell ye that!”
Skeetles showed his gun, and Dan Marcy exhibited a pistol, and, alarmed at the unexpected show of firearms, Fred dropped back to the place where the stores had been placed.
As he could not get into the lodge, Fred decided to follow Joel Runnell’s advice and take to a tree. Armed with several blankets, he climbed into a pine and made himself as comfortable as possible. The storm that had threatened now started, the flakes of snow coming down softly, and growing thicker and thicker every minute.
“This will make it bad for Joe and Harry,” thought Fred. “They’ll have their own troubles getting back to camp if it snows too hard.”
From a distance he heard a rifle shot, proving that Joel Runnell was still following the bear. But after that all was quiet for a good hour.
By that time Fred was hungry, and climbing down to the ground, he procured such things from the stores as were ready to eat. He was just finishing a cracker when Joel Runnell came into view.
“Did you shoot him?” asked the youth, eagerly.
“No, he got away among the rocks,” was Joel Runnell’s reply. “I might have tracked him farther, but I was afraid of falling into some pit, the snow is that thick. I reckon this is going to be the banner storm of the season. How did you make out with Skeetles and Marcy?”
“I made out – and that’s all,” grinned Fred. “They won’t let me come near the cabin.”
“I thought as much, and as I came along I picked out a new spot for a shelter – providing you and the others want to stay on the island.”
“We can’t leave until Joe and Harry come back. If we do, they won’t know where to look for us.”
“Just my idee, Fred. We’ll go down close to the shore. Then they can’t miss us when they come over.”
“They ought to be here by this time.”
“Perhaps they got on the track of more game.”
Without delay the stores and traps were packed on the two sleds, and the pair started away from Snow Lodge. From the window Hiram Skeetles and Dan Marcy watched them with interest.
“Don’t ye dare to stay on the island!” shouted the real estate dealer after them. “If ye do, I’ll have the law on ye!”
“Oh, give us a rest!” retorted Fred. “Perhaps we’ll have the law on you before this affair is finished.”
“I’ve got my rights – ”
“And so have we, and the Westmores have got theirs, too. Some day they’ll find those missing papers, and then you may hear a thing or two,” and with this parting shot Fred moved off with one sled, while old Runnell moved off with the other.
“Ha! did you hear that?” gasped Hiram Skeetles, clutching Marcy by the arm. “Do you think – ”
“Oh, don’t get scared,” came from the bully. “They don’t know any more about those papers than they know about the man in the moon.”
“But they might have heard of my loss – ”
“No, I think it was only a bluff, Hiram. They’ll leave to-day or to-morrow, and that will be the end of it.”
“I hope they do leave,” sighed the real estate dealer. “I won’t feel safe so long as they are on the island.”
“Do you remember the place where you dropped your pocketbook?”
“Not the exact spot. I was all shook up by the storm, and had a splittin’ headache. I looked around for half a day, but it was no use.”
“Maybe the pocketbook and the papers went to the bottom of the lake.”
“I’d rather have that happen than that they should run across those papers,” answered Skeetles, with another sigh.
The spot Joel Runnell had chosen for a new camp was located not far from where Fred had been fishing. Here a clump of pines overhung a hollow several yards wide, and sloping off toward the lake shore. To the north of the hollow were a series of rocks, that, along with the pines, cut off a good portion of the wind and the snow.
“I’ll cut a few saplings, and throw them over the hollow, and over them we can place a double blanket and some pine boughs,” said Joel Runnell. “Then we can clean out the place and start a fire near the doorway, and we’ll be almost as comfortable as at the lodge.”
“They kept one of the deer on us. I think that was cheeky.”
“Never mind, we have the other, and we’ll have two more when Joe and Harry get back. I don’t think they took anything else.”
But in this the old hunter was mistaken. Skeetles and Marcy had helped themselves to a little of almost all the stores, but had not taken sufficient of any particular article to make it noticeable.
It took over an hour to get the shelter into shape. Then the fire was started between two large rocks, and here they proceeded to broil several of the fish, and also set a pot of beans to baking as soon as one of the rocks was hot enough.
“It’s queer that Joe and Harry don’t show themselves,” was Fred’s comment, while they were eating. “In such a storm as this they ought to know enough to hurry back.”
“I’ll wait a little longer and see if they don’t turn up, Fred. They may have found the load heavier than they calculated on. Remember, too, it’s quite a distance to where we left those deer hanging.”
“What do you think those shots meant?”
“I can’t say, except that they might have brought down some more small game, maybe a partridge or some rabbits.”
Having finished the repast, both set to work to chop firewood, for it was easier to do this than to drag it from the pile at the lodge.
“It galls me to think they’ll use up what we cut,” grumbled Fred. “But I’m going to get square sometime, you see if I don’t!”
“I think, according to law, we could make ’em pay for that venison,” returned Joel Runnell. “But I reckon it ain’t worth going to law about. We can decide on what’s best to do after Joe and Harry get back.”
Slowly the afternoon wore away. In the meantime the sky grew darker, and the snow came down so thickly that but little could be seen in any direction.
“I must say I don’t like this,” remarked the old hunter, with a grave shake of his head. “Reckon I had best go across the lake and see what has become of those lads. You won’t mind staying here alone, will you?”
Fred did mind – not having forgotten about the bear. But he hesitated to say so, and put on a bold front.
“Go ahead, but don’t stay away any longer than is necessary,” he said, and a few minutes later Joel Runnell departed on his search for the missing ones.
CHAPTER XIII
LOST IN A BLIZZARD
To Joe and Harry the sight of so many half-starved wolves was certainly a dismaying one. They were vicious-looking creatures, and the fact that the first arrivals had quickly devoured the beast they had brought low proved that they would stop at nothing in order to satisfy their hunger.
Without wasting words, each of the youths fired into the pack, and by good luck two more of the creatures were killed. The others retreated for a minute, but then came forward once more, to rend the dead bodies and snarl and fight over the choicest pieces.
“That was lucky,” said Joe. “But those dead ones won’t last long.”
“What had we best do?” questioned his brother. “Run for it, or climb into the tree?”
Before an answer could be given to this query three of the wolves advanced on the lads, snarling more savagely than ever. Not wishing to be attacked before he could re-load, Harry leaped up into the lower branches of the tree in which the two deer still hung. Joe followed, and both climbed still higher out of harm’s way. More wolves came up, until eight were stationed at the foot of the tree, all snarling and yelping and leaping, their polished teeth showing plainly, and their eyes reflecting the cruelty of their natures.
“We are in a pickle now, and no error!” groaned Harry. “What in the world are we to do next?”
“Well, I reckon you can take another snap shot if you wish,” answered Joe, dryly.
“This is no joking matter, Joe. I feel like smashing my camera over their heads.”
“The best thing we can do is to stay here.”
“I’m going to kill another wolf or two if I can.”
Harry re-loaded and took careful aim at the largest wolf in the pack. But the beast was wary, and just as the young hunter pulled the trigger it leaped to one side, so that the shot flew wide of its mark, striking another wolf in the tail, causing an added howl of pain and rage, but no serious damage.
After that the wolves seemed inclined to keep their distance. Occasionally one would draw closer, with nose uplifted, sniffing the blood of the deer, but as soon as one or the other of the lads raised his gun the beast would slink back behind a tree, bush, or rock.
“I guess they are going to play a waiting game,” said Joe, after a dreary half hour had passed.
“Do you think they expect us to come down?”
“They know we won’t want to remain up here forever.”
“If we only had something with which to scare them.”
“Perhaps we can fix up something.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was thinking of those deer. What have you got in the way of powder and shot?”
Harry showed his store, and Joe looked over what he possessed.
“We’ll fix ’em,” said Joe, getting out his knife.
With great care he cut a chunk of venison, and wrapped it in a piece of the deer skin. Inside of the skin he placed a quantity of powder and shot, and to this added a fuse, a rude affair, but one that looked as if it might burn. Then he cut several other pieces of venison.
“Now feed these to the wolves, one at a time,” he said to his brother.
Harry understood, and threw one of the bits far out from the tree. A wolf came and sniffed at it, and then began to eat. Another bit brought several other of the beasts up, and then the whole pack crowded up close.
“Now then, take that, and see how you like it!” cried Joe, and, lighting the fuse, he threw the big piece down in the very center of the pack. “Now use your gun, Harry!” he cried, and snatched up his own firearm.
There was a moment of suspense, and then bang! went the charge in the venison, causing several of the wolves to fall back badly wounded. An instant later crack! crack! went the two shotguns of the young hunters.
When the smoke cleared away it was found that three of the wolves were dead, and two others were seriously, if not mortally, wounded. The slaughter thoroughly scared those which remained, and in a twinkling they turned and disappeared into the forest, some howling and yelping as they ran.
“That is the time we did it!” cried Joe. “They’ve learned a lesson they won’t forget.”
“Will they come back?”
“I hardly think so. Runnell told me once that when a wolf is thoroughly scared he’ll run for miles before he stops.”
The wounded beasts were drawing away as fast as their hurts would permit, and in a few minutes only the dead animals were in sight. With caution the young hunters descended to the ground and looked around among the trees.
“They are gone, that’s certain,” announced Joe. “I don’t believe we’ll see or hear of them again.”
By this time it had begun to snow a little. Now that the enemy were gone each found himself hungry.
“We’ll get a hasty meal, and then start for camp,” said Harry. “I shan’t feel perfectly safe until I’m back with the others.”
But as the meal progressed they grew calmer, and even examined the dead wolves with interest.
“We’ll have a tale to tell when we get back,” said Joe.
“Let us take the tails to verify our tale,” laughed Harry, and cut off the wolves’ tails without further words.
It was not until half an hour later that they had their drags fixed, ready to start back for Pine Island. By this time the snow was coming down heavily.
“We’re up against a regular storm now, that’s certain,” came from Joe, as he surveyed the darkening sky.
“Well, I declare, if I haven’t lost my pocket-knife!” ejaculated Harry, as he searched his pockets. “It’s the new one, too – the one Laura and Bessie gave me on my last birthday.”
Both, of the youths began a search that lasted another quarter of an hour, when the knife was found among the branches of one of the drags.
“And now don’t let us lose any more time,” came from Joe. “The wind is rising, and we’ll have all we can do to get back to the lodge before night.”
He was right about the wind. It was already moaning and sighing among the pines, and causing the snow to swirl in several directions. The increased cold also affected them, and caused Harry to shiver.
“I’d give as much as a dollar to be back to camp,” he announced. “Hauling this load is going to be no picnic.”
“Follow in my footsteps, Harry,” came from his brother, and Joe led the way out of the wood and down to the lake shore. Here it seemed to snow and blow harder than ever, and the snow was piling up in drifts that looked far from inviting.
For a moment the boys thought of turning back and going into a temporary camp until the storm should subside. But they knew that Fred and Runnell would worry over their non-appearance, and so pushed on in as straight a course as they could lay down.
The farther they got out on the lake the more the snow swirled around them. The snow was now as hard as salt, and beat into their faces and down their necks in spite of all they could do to protect themselves. Thus less than half a mile was covered, when Harry called a halt.
“I – I can’t get my breath,” he gasped. “Joe, this is fearful.”
“I guess it’s something of a blizzard, Harry. Come on, we can’t stay here.”
“Hadn’t we better go back?”
“It’s just as bad to go back as it is to go ahead.”
“I can’t see a dozen yards in any direction.”
“It’s the same with me.”
“Then how do you know that you are going in the right direction?”
“Oh, the island is over there, isn’t it?”
“I should say a little to the left of that.”
“Well, it’s between those two points, and we can’t miss the shore, even if we don’t strike the lodge. As soon as we get close enough we can fire a gun as a signal to Fred and old Runnell.”
Once more they pushed on, in the very teeth of the blizzard, for such the storm had now become. The wind roared and shrieked around them, often tumbling them and the drags over in the snowdrifts. Soon even Joe was all but winded, and he willingly enough crouched beside Harry and the drags for a brief rest.
“This is certainly fierce,” he gasped out. “I never dreamed it would get so bad.”
“I only hope we can hold out until we reach some part of the island. If we can’t – ” Harry did not finish, but the sigh he gave meant a good deal.
“Oh, you don’t want to give up so easily, Harry,” cried his brother, bracing up. “We’ve simply got to get over, or else go back to where we came from. We can’t stay out on the lake all night. We’d be frozen stiff.”
Once more they arose and caught hold of the drags. But now the loads were much too heavy for them.
“Let us take one and leave the other,” suggested Joe.
Feeling that that was the best they could do, they dropped Harry’s deer, and both caught hold of the drag Joe had been pulling. With their burdens thus lightened, they pushed on several hundred yards farther. But that was Harry’s limit, and again he sank down, this time as if ready to faint from exhaustion.
“It’s no – no use,” he sighed. “I can’t go an – another step!”
“Oh, Harry, you must! We can’t stop here!”
“I know that, but m – m – my legs feel as if they weighed a – a ton.”
“Here, give me your hand. We’ll let the other deer go, too. Perhaps old Runnell can bring it in in the morning.”
“It’s a shame to leave the game – ”
“I know, but we have got to think of ourselves first. I don’t think we’re so very far from the island. I’ll shoot my gun off as a signal.”
Joe did so, and listened for fully a minute for an answering shot. But no sound but the roaring and shrieking of the wind reached their ears. He slung his gun over his shoulder and literally yanked his brother up.
“Courage, Harry, courage!” he whispered. “You musn’t give in this way. Brace up, old boy!”
“I’m so – so sleepy,” came back, drowsily. “I really can’t go on.”
Yet urged by Joe, Harry took a score of steps or more. But now his teeth were chattering from the cold, and he could not stand, try his best. He sank a dead weight on the ice.
Filled with a new fear, Joe caught his brother up in his arms.
“If I leave him here he’ll surely die!” he muttered, hoarsely. “I must get him to the island somehow! I must!”
Throwing the semi-unconscious form over his shoulder, he staggered on until he came to a deep ridge of snow. Here he stumbled and fell. He tried to get up, but his shaking limbs refused to hold him.
“It’s no use,” he thought. “It’s all over.”
He caught sight of Harry’s gun, and reaching for it, pulled the trigger. He listened, and fancied he heard an answering shot. But he was not sure. It might have been only the wind.
“If only the others knew!” he murmured, and then sank down beside Harry, all but unconscious from the cold and exhaustion.