“That night the floods came. The torrents rushing down every hillside speedily burst the already rotten ice. Some miles above the camp a jam formed itself early in the evening,—a mixed mass of ice-cakes, logs, and rubbish; and this kept the water below from rising rapidly enough to warn the camp of its danger. Just as the gray of dawn was beginning to struggle dimly through the forest aisles, the jam broke, and the mighty avalanche of ice and water swept down on the slumbering camp.
“There was no warning. Men perished in their sleep, crushed or drowned, without knowing what had happened. The camp was simply wiped out of existence.
“The bunk in which Arty lay asleep with his young protector was not built into the wall like the other bunks. It was a separate structure, and stood across the end of the building close by the fireplace. When the flood struck the camp, the stout building went down like a house of cards.
“With a choking cry of terror Arty awoke to find himself drifting in a tumult of icy waters. Great dark waves kept whirling, eddying, and crashing about him. An arm was around him, holding him firmly, and he realized that Mart was taking care of him. Presently a fragment of wreck plunged against them and he heard Mart groan; but the young man caught the timbers, and bade Arty lay hold of them. The childbravely did as he was told, and climbed actively upon the floating mass. Hardly had he done so when Mart disappeared under the dark surface.
“A shrill cry broke from Arty’s lips at the sight, but in a moment the young man reappeared. He was close against the timbers—dashing against them, in fact; but Arty saw that he was unable to hold on to them. Throwing himself flat on his face, the plucky little fellow caught hold of his friend’s sleeve, and clung to it with all his tiny strength. Tiny as it was, it was enough for the purpose, however, and Mart’s head was kept above water; but his eyes were closed, and he did not notice the child’s voice begging him to climb up onto the wreck.
“The waters subsided almost as rapidly as they had risen, though the stream remained a torrent, raging far above its wonted bounds. In a few minutes the timbers on which Arty had his refuge were swung by an eddy into shallow water. They caught against a tree, and then grounded at one end.
“Arty began crawling toward shore, dragging Mart’s body through the water without great difficulty. But when he got into the shallow part it was another matter; he could not haul Mart’s weight any farther. Resting the young man’s head on the edge of the timbers, he paused to take breath, and looked about him in despair. Now he began to cry again; he had been too busy for lamentations while trying to save Mart.
“Presently he heard some one approaching, attracted by the sound of his voice. Looking up eagerly, he saw it was old Jerry, picking his way through the shallow water. He called him by name, and the horse neighed joyfully in answer. The animal was sadly bedraggled in appearance, but evidently unhurt. He had swum ashore lower down the river, and was making his way back to where he expected to find the camp. Now, however, he came to Arty, sniffed him over, and rubbed him with his soft, wet nose.
“‘Jerry’ll help me pull Mart out,’ said the child aloud, half to himself, half to the horse; and laying hold of the young man’s sleeve, he again began bravely tugging upon it. ‘Pull too, Jerry,’ urged the little fellow, while the animal stood wondering what it was he was required to do. In a moment, however, he understood; and seizing the young man by the collar of his shirt, he speedily dragged him to land without much help from Arty. The affectionate creature recognized his driver, and stood over him with drooping head, bewildered at his helplessness and silence. Mart opened his eyes, and groaned slightly once or twice, but immediately relapsed into unconsciousness. Arty sat down by his side, his little heart overflowing with grief and fear. He kept crying for his father and his grandmother, and for Mart to open his eyes. Jerry completed the sad group, standing over it as ifon guard, and ever and anon lifting his head to send forth a shrill whinny of appeal. This was the position in which, a half-hour later, guided by Jerry’s signals, Steve Doyle and his party found them.
“Doyle had not caught the lumber thieves. The march of his party had been so retarded by the thaw that they had halted before going half-way. As the storm increased, and they observed how the water was rising in the brook beside which they had encamped, they became alarmed. They realized the prospect of a big flood; and Steve Doyle led his men back in hot haste. It was full daylight when they came out upon the devastated clearing where once had stood the camp.
“The horror in the lumbermen’s hearts is not to be described. In a pile of wreckage, strangely mixed up with hay and straw from the stable, they found the cook, with a leg and an arm broken, but still alive. Of no one else was there a sign, nor of the horses. From the cook, Doyle learned of Arty’s presence in the camp. Without a word, but with a wild, white face, the man started down stream in a despairing search; and the whole band followed, with the exception of two that stayed to take care of the unfortunate cook.
“When the father clasped Arty in his arms he was almost beside himself with joy for a few moments; then he remembered the poor fellows who were gone. Giving the child into the armsof one of the men, he busied himself with Mart, whom, by means of rubbing, he soon brought back to consciousness. The brave fellow had been stunned by a blow on the head, and afterward half drowned; but he soon recovered so far as to be able to walk with assistance. To Arty he owed his life, even as he had himself saved Arty’s.
“A little later a melancholy procession started back for Beardsley Settlement. The poor cook was placed on Jerry’s back, and bore his pain like a hero. Arty trudged by the side of McCann, to whose charge he was committed by his father, and Mart was helped along by two of his comrades. With these went five or six more of the hands, to get them safely to the settlement. All the rest, under the leadership of Steve Doyle, set off down river on a search for the three missing men, or their bodies. And the site of the camp was left to its desolation.
“As for Doyle’s search, it proved fruitless, and the party returned heavy-hearted. Henceforth the scene of the catastrophe became known throughout that region as ‘Lost Camp,’ and was sedulously avoided by the lumbermen. Next season the Ryckert Company’s camp on the Little St. Francis was built on higher ground some miles farther up stream.”
“That’s a most depressing tale, Queerman,” grumbled Ranolf. “I suppose it’s my turn now;and, thank goodness, I’ve got something frivolous to tell!”
“Heave ahead, then,” urged Stranion.
“Your title?” I demanded.
“This is the tale of ‘The Cart before the Steer,’” replied Ranolf.
“‘Landry!’ shouted Squire Bateman, emerging from the big red door of the barn with a pitchfork in his hand.
“Landry, an excitable little Frenchman, appeared suddenly around the woodhouse, as if he had just been waiting to be called.
“‘Landry,’ said the squire, ‘you’re goin’ in to Kentville this mornin’ for that feed, ain’t you?’
“‘Yes, sare,’ responded Landry.
“The farmer considered for a moment, chewing thoughtfully on a head of wheat. Then he continued, ‘You’d better take the black-an’-white steer along, and leave him at Murphy’s as you pass. He’s fat now as he’ll ever be, an’ it’s jest a waste o’ feed to keep on stuffin’ the critter.’
“‘’Ow’ll I take him, sare?’ queried Landry.
“‘Oh,’ replied the squire rather impatiently, turning back into the barn, ‘hitch him to the back o’ the cart. He’ll lead all right!’
“On this point Landry seemed doubtful. He scratched his head anxiously for a moment, and then darted off in his nervous way, so unlike thedeliberateness of hired men in general, to carry out his employer’s orders.
“The black-and-white steer was a raw-boned beast, about three years old, with no disposition to take on fat. There was a wild, roving expression in his eye which made Landry, who knew cattle well, and appreciated the differences in their dispositions, very doubtful as to his docility when being led to market. In Squire Bateman’s eyes, however, a steer was a steer; and if one could be led so could another. Squire Bateman had a constitutional hatred of exceptions.
“When Landry was ready to start he hitched the steer to the cart-tail with a strong halter, and set out with misgivings. But the steer proved docility itself. It trotted along in indolent good humor, holding its head high, and sniffing the fresh, meadow-scented air with delight. By the time they reached the top of Barnes’s Hill, a long descent about two miles this side of Kentville, Landry had made up his mind that he had done the animal an injustice. But just at this stage in the journey something took place, as things will so long as Fate remains the whimsical creature she is.
“It chanced that a party of wheelmen from Halifax, on a tour through the Cornwallis valley and the Evangeline regions, arrived at the top of the hill when Landry and his charge were about half-way down. The bicyclists were riding in a longline, single file. Their leader knew the country, and he knew that Barnes’s Hill was smooth and safe for ‘coasting.’ Some of the riders, the leader among them, were on the old-fashioned high wheels, while others rode the less conspicuous ‘Safeties,’ then a new thing. Each man, as he dipped over the edge of the slope, flung his legs over the handles and luxuriously ‘let her go.’ They saw the team ahead, but there was abundance of room for safe passing.
“Now, Squire Bateman’s black-and-white steer had been brought up behind the Gaspereau hills, where the wheelman delights not to wander. A bicycle, therefore, was in his eyes a novel and terrifying sight. As the whirling and gleaming apparition flashed past he snorted fiercely, and sprang aside with a violence that almost upset the cart. Landry sprang to his feet, grinding his teeth with excitement and wrath, and the next wheelman slipped radiantly by. This was too much for the black-and-white steer, and on the third wheel he made a desperate but ineffectual charge.
“Ineffectual did I say? Well, only so far as that wheel was concerned; but he flung himself so far across the way that the next rider could not avoid the obstacle. The tall wheel struck the animal amidships, so to speak; and the rider went right on and landed in a dismal heap. The other riders darted aside up the bank into thefence, stopping themselves gracefully or ungracefully, but at any cost avoiding the now quite demented beast that was blocking their way.
“The animal made a frantic dash at the unfortunate wheelman in the gutter, who had picked himself up with difficulty, and was feeling for broken bones. He was beyond the steer’s reach, but discreetly hobbled to the fence, and placed that welcome barrier between him and the foe. The fury of the animal’s charge, however, had swung the cart right across the road, and now the frightened horse began to plunge and rear. Landry held him in partial control; and the next instant the steer made a second mad rush, this time aiming at the bicycle which had struck him, and which now lay in the gutter. He reached the offending wheel, but at the same time he upset the cart. Out went Landry like a rubber ball; and the horse, kicking himself free of the traces, set out at a highly creditable pace for Kentville.
“The rage of the little Frenchman, as he picked himself up, was Homeric. He abused the bellowing and bounding brute with an eloquence which, had it been expressed in English, would have made the wheelmen on the other side of the fence depart in horror. Then he seized a fence stake and rushed into close quarters, resolved to enforce his authority.
“At the moment of Landry’s attack, the steer had his horns very much engaged in the wheel ofthe bicycle. As the fence stake came down with impressive emphasis across his haunches, he tossed the machine in air, and charged on his assailant with great nimbleness and ferocity. Landry just escaped by springing over the body of the cart; and at this juncture he congratulated himself that he had hitched the animal by so strong a halter.
“By this time the bicyclists had reunited their forces a little below. Their leader, with the dismounted wheelman, now came to rescue the suffering wheel. But there was no such thing as getting near it. The steer stood guard over his prize with an air that forbade any interference.
“‘It isn’t much good now, anyway,’ grumbled the victim. ‘I guess I’ll have to hobble on as far as Kentville, and borrow or hire another wheel there. This ain’t worth mending now.’
“‘Oh, nonsense!’ replied the leader; ‘a few dollars will put it all right. We’ll leave it at Kentville to be sent back to Halifax by the D. A. R., and McInerney’ll fix it so you’d never know it had been broken!’
“‘Well,’ rejoined the discomfited one, ‘I don’t see how we’re going to get hold of it, anyway.’
“To this sentiment the steer bellowed his adherence. The leader of the wheelmen, however, glancing around at the encouraging countenances of his party, drew a small revolver from his hip pocket.
“‘Don’t you think,’ he said, addressing Landry,‘we ought to shoot this beast? He is blocking the highway, and he is a menace to all passers-by.’
“The astute Landry meditated for a moment.
“‘What might be your name, sare?’ he inquired.
“‘My name’s Vroot—Walter Vroot of Halifax,’ replied the wheelman.
“‘Eef you shoot ze steer, sare, Squire Bateman he make you pay for ’eem, sure,’ said Landry.
“At this there arose a chorus of indignation led by the discomfited one. But Mr. Vroot turned on his heel, thrusting his revolver back into his pocket.
“‘Perhaps,’ said he to Landry, ‘you’ll be so good as to bring the bicycle into Kentville with you when you come.’
“‘Sare,’ said Landry, ‘’ow is dat posseeble? I go in to Kentville right now to look after my ’orse.’
“In a few minutes the wheelmen had vanished in a slender and gleaming line, Landry and the wheelless one (whose name, by the way, was Smith) were tramping dejectedly townward, and the steer was left in absolute possession of the cart, the wheel, and a portion of the Queen’s highway.
“In a short time the situation might have become monotonous for the animal, as the road was dry and dusty, and the rich, short grass of the roadside beyond his reach. But just as he hadgot tired of demolishing the bicycle, there came a diversion. A light carriage containing a lady and gentleman appeared over the crest of the hill. The occupants of the carriage were surprised and vexed at the obstacle before them.
“‘I think it’s perfectly outrageous,’ said the lady, ‘the way these country people leave their vehicles right in the middle of the road.’
“‘There seems to have been some accident,’ remarked the man soothingly.
“‘What business had they going away and leaving things that way?’ retorted the lady sharply. ‘You’ll have to get out and remove that animal before we try to pass.’
“By this time the horse, a mild livery-stable creature, was almost within reach of the angry steer, whose tail twitched ominously. The next instant, with a deep, grunting bellow, he charged at the horse, who reared and backed just in time to save himself. The carriage came within an ace of upsetting, and the lady shrieked hysterically. The man sprang out, and seized the horse by the head. The lady flung herself out desperately over the back.
“‘Don’t be alarmed, my dear!’ said the man. ‘The animal is securely fastened to the cart, and seems to have been placed there to guard the way. They seem to have very strange customs in Nova Scotia!’
“‘Whatshallwe do?’ queried the lady tearfully, gazing at the pawing and roaring steer.
“‘Why, there’s nothing to do but take down a piece of the fence and drive around. There’s no occasion for alarm!’ replied the man.
“He backed the horse a little way, and then tied him to the fence while he made an opening. Then he made another opening at a safe distance below the obstacle, led the horse and carriage through, put the lady back into the seat, and continued his journey philosophically. In the course of the next hour a number of other travellers approached, and taking in the situation, followed the new route through the fields. The steer invariably bellowed, and plunged and lashed himself into mad rage in trying to get at them; but Squire Bateman’s halter and rope did their duty, and all his efforts proved futile.
“But meanwhile the most astounding reports were flying about Kentville. Landry had secured the horse, and related the exact truth of the whole affair; but the various romantic and exciting embellishments of wayfarers found most favor in the eventless country town. A little squad of men with guns set forth to quell the nuisance; and hard on their heels followed Landry, bent on saving the property of his employer.
“When the party drew near, and realized how securely their antagonist was tethered, they were in no haste to complete their errand. The brute’s rage was so blind and fierce that they amused themselves for a little with the sport of tantalizinghim. They would approach almost within his reach, and then dart back to a safer-looking distance; and presently the animal was a mass of sweat and froth, churned with red dust of the highway. At last, just as one of the men raised his rifle with the intention of ending the play, the animal threw himself in one of his maddest charges.
“Landry had just come up. The instant the steer fell he rushed forward, threw his coat over its head, and knotted the arms under its jaws. Breathless and bewildered, the panting brute ceased its struggles and lay quite still. In a moment or two it was lifted to its feet, the halter was unhitched from the cart-tail, and Landry set out for Kentville with the blindfolded steer following as gently as a lamb.”
On the following morning we breakfasted in a very leisurely fashion, with a delightful sense of having all day before us. We spent the day in casting our flies at the outlet, and our success was a continual repetition of that of the previous night. Only Stranion grew tired. He could not hook as many fish as the rest of us; wherefore he grew disgusted, and chose to sit on the bank deriding us. But as long as the fish were feeding we heeded him not. Our heaviest trout that day just cleared two pounds and a half.
In the evening we took tea early. Before settling down we made a little voyage of exploration to the top of a neighboring hill, and watched the moon rise over the vast and empty wilderness. Returning to the camp, we doffed our scanty garments, ran down the beach, and dashed out into the gleaming lake-waters. It was such a swim as Stranion had told us of. After this we felt royally luxurious. We lolled upon our blankets with a lordly air, and the soughing of the pines was all about us for music. Then, in a peremptory tone,Sam cried, “Stranion!”—“Sir, to you!” was Stranion’s polite response.
“Stranion,” continued Sam, “to you it falls to unfold to this appreciative audience the resources of your experience or your imagination. I would recommend, now, a judicious combination of the two.”
Thus irresistibly adjured, Stranion began:—
“This is the story of—
said he. “Judge ye whether I speak from experience or imagination.
“It was a Christmas Eve service in the Second Westcock Church.
“The church at Second Westcock was quaint and old-fashioned, like the village over which it presided. Its shingles were gray with the beating of many winters; its little square tower was surmounted by four spindling posts, like the legs of a table turned heavenward; its staring windows were adorned with curtains of yellow cotton; its uneven and desolate churchyard, strewn with graves and snowdrifts, occupied a bleak hillside looking out across the bay to the lonely height of Shepody Mountain.
“Down the long slope below the church straggled the village, half-lost in the snow, and whistled over by the winds of the Bay of Fundy.
“Second Westcock was an outlying corner ofthe rector’s expansive parish, and a Christmas Eve service there was an event almost unparalleled. To give Second Westcock this service, the rector had forsaken his prosperous congregations at Westcock, Sackville, and Dorchester, driving some eight or ten miles through the snows and solitude of the deep Dorchester woods.
“And because the choir at Second Westcock was not remarkable even for willingness, much less for strength or skill, he had brought with him his fifteen-year-old niece, Lou Allison, to swell the Christmas praises with the notes of her clarionet.
“The little church was lighted with oil-lamps ranged along the white wall between the windows. The poor, bare chancel—a red cloth-covered kitchen table in a semicircle of paintless railing—was flanked by two towering pulpits of white pine. On either side the narrow, carpetless aisle were rows of unpainted benches.
“On the left were gathered solemnly the men of the congregation, each looking straight ahead. On the right were the women, whispering and scanning each other’s bonnets, till the appearance of the rector from the little vestry-room by the door should bring silence and reverent attention.
“In front of the women’s row stood the melodeon; and the two benches behind it were occupied by the choir, the male members of which sat blushingly self-conscious, proud of their office, butdeeply abashed at the necessity of sitting among the women.
“There was no attempt at Christmas decoration, for Second Westcock had never been awakened to the delicious excitements of the church greening.
“At last the rector appeared in his voluminous white surplice. He moved slowly up the aisle, and mounted the winding steps of the right-hand pulpit; and as he did so his five-year-old son, forsaking his place by Lou’s side, marched forward and seated himself resolutely on the pulpit steps. He did not feel quite at home in Second Westcock Church.
“The sweet old carol, ‘While shepherds watched their flocks by night,’ rose rather doubtfully from the little choir, who looked and listened askance at the glittering clarionet, into which Lou was now blowing softly. Lou was afraid to make herself distinctly heard at first, lest she should startle the singers; but in the second verse the pure vibrant notes came out with confidence, and then for two lines the song was little more than a duet between Lou and the rector’s vigorous baritone. In the third verse, however, it all came right. The choir felt and responded to the strong support and thrilling stimulus of the instrument, and at length ceased to dread their own voices. The naked little church was glorified with the sweep of triumphal song pulsating through it.
“Never before had such music been heard there.Men, women, and children sang from their very souls; and when the hymn was ended the whole congregation stood for some seconds as in a dream, with quivering throats, till the rector’s calm voice, repeating the opening words of the liturgy, brought back their self-control in some measure.
“Thereafter every hymn and chant and carol was like an inspiration, and Lou’s eyes sparkled with exultation.
“When the service was over the people gathered round the stove by the door, praising Lou’s clarionet, and petting little Ted, who had by this time come down from the pulpit steps. One old lady gave the child two or three brown sugar-biscuits, which she had brought in her pocket, and a pair of red mittens, which she had knitted for him as a Christmas present.
“Turning to Lou, the old lady said, ‘I never heerd nothing like that trumpet of yourn, Miss. I felt like it jest drawed down the angels from heaven to sing with us to-night. Ther voices was all swimming in a smoke like, right up in the hollow of the ceiling.’
“‘’Tain’t a trumpet!’ interrupted Teddy shyly; ‘it’s a clar’onet. I got a trumpet home!’
“‘Tobe sure!’ replied the old lady indulgently. ‘But, Miss, as I was a-sayin’, that music of yourn would jest soften the hardest heart as ever was.’
“The rector had just come from the vestry-room,well wrapped up in his furs, and was shaking hands and wishing every one a Merry Christmas, while the sexton brought the horse to the door. He overheard the old lady’s last remark, as she was bundling Teddy up in a huge woollen muffler.
“‘It certainly did,’ said he, ‘make the singing go magnificently to-night, didn’t it, Mrs. Tait? But I wonder, now, what sort of an effect it would produce on a hard-hearted bear if such a creature should come out at us while we are going through Dorchester woods?’
“The mild pleasantry was very delicately adapted to the rector’s audience, and the group about the stove smiled with a reverent air befitting the place they were in; but the old lady exclaimed in haste,—
“‘My land sakes, Parson, a bear’d be jest scared to death!’
“‘I wonder if itwouldfrighten a bear?’ thought Lou to herself, as they were getting snugly bundled into the warm, deep ‘pung,’ as the low box-sleigh with movable seats is called.
“Soon the crest of the hill was passed, and the four-poster on the top of Second Westcock Church sank out of sight. For a mile or more the road led through half-cleared pasture lands, where the black stumps stuck up so strangely through the drifts that Teddy discovered bears on every hand. He was not at all alarmed, however,for he was sure his father was a match for a thousand bears.
“By and by the road entered the curious inverted dark of the Dorchester woods, where all the light seemed to come from the white snow under the trees rather than from the dark sky above them. At this stage of the journey Teddy retired beneath the buffalo-robes, and went to sleep in the bottom of the pung.
“The horse jogged slowly along the somewhat heavy road. The bells jingled drowsily amid the soft, pushing whisper of the runners. Lou and the rector talked in quiet voices, attuned to the solemn hush of the great forest.
“‘What’s that?’
“Lou shivered up closer to the rector as she spoke, and glanced nervously into the dark woods whence a sound had come. He did not answer at once, but seized the whip and tightened the reins, as a signal to old Jerry to move on faster.
“The horse needed no signal, but awoke into an eager trot, which would have become a gallop had the rector permitted.
“Again came the sound, this time a little nearer, and still, apparently, just abreast of the pung, but deep in the woods. It was a bitter, long, wailing cry, blended with a harshly grating undertone, like the rasping of a saw.
“‘What is it?’ again asked Lou, her teeth chattering.
“The rector let old Jerry out into a gallop, as he answered, ‘I’m afraid it’s a panther,—what they call around here an “Indian devil.” But I don’t think there is any real danger. It is a ferocious beast, but will probably giveusa wide berth.’
“‘Why won’t it attackus?” asked Lou.
“‘Oh, it prefers solitary victims,’ replied the rector. ‘It is ordinarily a cautious beast, and does not understand the combination of man and horse and vehicle. Only on rare occasions has it been known to attack people driving, and this one will probably keep well out of our sight. However, it’s just as well to get beyond its neighborhood as quickly as possible. Steady, Jerry, old boy! Steady; don’t use yourself up too fast!’
“The rector kept the horse well in hand; but in a short time it was plain that the panther was not avoiding the party. The cries came nearer and nearer, and Lou’s breath came quicker and quicker, and the rector’s teeth began to set themselves grimly, while his brows gathered in anxious thought.
“If it should come to a struggle, what was there in the sleigh, he was wondering, that could serve as a weapon? Nothing, absolutely nothing, but his heavy pocket-knife.
“‘A poor weapon,’ thought he ruefully, ‘with which to fight a panther.’ But he felt in his pocket with one hand, and opened the knife, andslipped it under the edge of the cushion beside him.
“At this instant he caught sight of the panther bounding along through the low underbrush, keeping parallel with the road, and not forty yards away.
“‘There it is!’ came in a terrified whisper from Lou’s lips; and just then Teddy lifted his head from under the robes. Frightened at the speed, and at the set look on his father’s face, he began to cry. The panther heard him and turned at once toward the sleigh.
“Old Jerry stretched himself out in a burst of extra speed, while the rector grasped his poor knife fiercely; and the panther came with a long leap right into the road, not ten paces behind the flying sleigh.
“Teddy stared in amazement, then cowered down in fresh terror as there came an ear-splitting screech, wild and high and long, from Lou’s clarionet. Lou had turned, and over the back of the seat was blowing this peal of desperate defiance in the brute’s very face. The astonished animal shrank back in his tracks, and sprang again into the underbrush.
“Lou turned to the rector with a flushed face of triumph, and the rector exclaimed in a husky voice, ‘Thank God!’ But Teddy, between his sobs, complained, ‘What did you do that for, Lou?’
“Lou jumped to the conclusion that her victory was complete and final; but the rector kept Jerry at his top speed, and scrutinized the underwood apprehensively.
“The panther appeared again in four or five minutes, returning to the road, and leaping along some forty or fifty feet behind the sleigh. His pace was a very curious, disjointed, india-rubbery spring, which rapidly closed up on the fugitives.
“Then round swung Lou’s long instrument again, and at its piercing cry the animal again shrank back. This time, however, he kept to the road, and the moment Lou paused for breath he resumed the chase.
“‘Save your breath, child,’ exclaimed the rector, as Lou again put the slender tube to her lips. ‘Save your breath, and let him have it ferociously when he begins to get too near.
“The animal came within twenty or thirty feet again, and then Lou greeted him with an ear-splitting blast, and he fell back. Again and again the tactics were repeated. Lou tried a thrilling cadenza; it was too much for the brute’s nerves. He could not comprehend a girl with such a penetrating voice, and he could not screw up his courage to a closer investigation of the marvel.
“At last the animal seemed to resolve on a change of procedure. Plunging into the woods, he made an effort to get ahead of the sleigh. Old Jerry was showing signs of exhaustion; but therector roused him to an extra spurt—and there, just ahead, was the opening of Fillmore’s settlement.
“‘Blow, Lou, blow!’ shouted the rector; and as the panther made a dash to intercept the sleigh, it found itself in too close proximity to the strange-voiced phenomenon in the pung, and sprang backward with an angry snarl.
“As Lou’s breath failed from her dry lips, the sleigh dashed out into the open. A dog bayed angrily from the nearest farmhouse, and the panther stopped short on the edge of the wood. The rector drove into the farmyard; and old Jerry stopped, shivering as if he would fall between the shafts.
“After the story had been told, and Jerry had been stabled and rubbed down, the rector resumed his journey with a fresh horse, having no fear that the panther would venture across the cleared lands. Three of the settlers started out forthwith, and following the tracks in the new snow, succeeded in shooting the beast after a chase of two or three hours.
“The adventure supplied the country-side all that winter with a theme for conversation; and about Lou’s clarionet there gathered a halo of romance that drew rousing congregations to the parish church, where its music was to be heard every alternate Sunday evening.”
“I should say,” remarked Queerman, “that toexperience and imagination you combine a most tenacious memory. Who would have dreamed that the shy Teddy, with his proclivity for the pulpit-steps, would have developed into the Stranion that we see before us!”
To this there was no reply. Then suddenly Magnus said, “Sam!” And Sam began at once.
“This is all about—
said Sam.
“One evening in the early summer, I won’t say how many years ago, Jake Dimball was driving the cows home from pasture. At that time Jake, a stout youth of seventeen, had no thought of such an appendage as a wooden leg. Indeed, he had no place to put one had he possessed such a thing; for his own vigorous legs of bone and muscle, with which he had been born and with which he had grown up in entire content, seemed likely to serve him for the rest of his natural life. But that very evening, amid the safe quiet and soft colors of the upland cow-pasture, fate was making ready a lesson for him in the possibilities of the unexpected.
“In Westmoreland county that summer bears were looked upon as a drug in the market. The county, indeed, seemed to be suffering from an epidemic of bears. But, so far, these woody pastures of Second Westcock, surrounded by settlements,had apparently escaped the contagion. When, therefore, Jake was startled by an angry growl, coming from a swampy thicket on his right, the thought of a bear did not immediately occur to him. He saw that the cows were running ahead with a sudden alertness, but he paused and gazed at the thicket, wondering whether it would be wise for him to go and investigate the source of the sound. While he hesitated, the question was decided for him. A large black bear burst forth from the bushes with a crash that carried a nameless terror into Jake’s very soul. The beast looked so cruelly out of place, so horribly out of place, breaking in upon the beauty and security of the familiar scene. Jake had no weapon more formidable than the hazel switch he was carrying and the pocket-knife with which he was trimming off its branches. After one long horrified look at the bear, Jake took to flight along the narrow cow-path.
“Jake was a notable runner in those days, yet the bear gained upon him rapidly. The cow-path was tortuous exceedingly, and away from the path the ground was too rough for fast running—at least Jake found it so. The bear did not seem to mind the irregularities.
“Jake envied the cows their fine head start. He wished he was with them; then, as he heard the bear getting closer, he almost wished he was one of them; and then his foot caught in a root and he fell headlong.
“As he fell a great wave of despair went over him, and a thought flashed through his mind: ‘This is the end of me!’ His sight was darkened for an instant, as he rolled in the moss and twigs between two hillocks. Then, turning upon his back, he saw the bear already hanging over him; and now a desperate courage came to his aid.
“Raising his heels high in the air, he brought them down with violence in the brute’s face. The animal started back, astonished at this novel method of defence. When it advanced again to the attack, Jake met it desperately with his heels; and all the time he kept up a lusty shouting such as he hoped would soon bring some one to the rescue. For a few minutes, strange to say, Jake’s tactics were successful in keeping his foe at bay; but presently the bear, growing more angry, or more hungry, made a fiercer assault, and, succeeded in catching the lad’s foot between his jaws. The brave fellow sickened under the cruel grip of those crunching teeth; but he kept up the fight with his free heel. Just as he was about fainting with pain and exhaustion, some farmers, who had heard the outcry, arrived upon the scene, and the bear hastily withdrew.
“That night there was a bear-hunt at Second Westcock, but it brought no spoils. Bruin had made an effective disappearance. As for Jake, his foot and the lower part of his leg were sodreadfully mangled that the leg had to be cut off just below the knee. When the lad was entirely recovered, being a handy fellow, he made himself a new leg of white oak, around the bottom of which, to prevent wear, he hammered a stout iron ring.
“The years went by in their usual surreptitious fashion, and brought few changes to Second Westcock. One June evening, ten years after that on which my story opened, Jake was driving the cows home as usual, when once more, as he passed the swampy thicket, he heard that menacing growl. Jake looked about him as if in a dream. There was the same dewy smell in the air, mingled with the fragrance of sweet fern, that he remembered so painfully and so well. There was the same long yellow cloud over the black woods to the west. There was the same dappled sky of amber and violet over his head. As before, he saw the cows breaking into a run. In a moment there was the same dreadful crashing in the thicket. Was he dreaming? He looked down in bewilderment, and his eyes fell on the iron-shod end of his wooden leg! That settled it. Evidently he was not dreaming, and it was time for him to hurry home. He broke into a run as rapid as his wooden leg would allow.
“Now, long use and natural dexterity had made Jake almost as active in the handling of this wooden leg as most men are with the limbswhich nature gave them. But with his original legs in their pristine vigor he had found himself no match for a bear. What, then, could he expect in the present instance? Jake looked over his shoulder, and beheld the bear hot on his tracks. He could have sworn it was the same bear as of old. He made up his mind to run no more, but to save his breath for what he felt might be his last fight. He gave a series of terrific yells, such as he thought might pierce even to the corner grocery under the hill, and threw himself flat on his back on a gentle hummock that might pass for a post of vantage.
“Jake was not hopeful, but he was firm. He thought it would be too much to expect to come off twice victorious from a scrape like this. He eyed the bear sternly, and it seemed to him as if the brute actually smiled on observing that its intended victim had not forgotten his ancient tactics. Jake concluded that the approaching contest was likely to be fatal to himself, but he calculated on making it at least unpleasant for the bear.
“The animal turned a little to one side, and attacked his prostrate antagonist in the flank; but Jake whirled nimbly just in time, and brought down his iron-shod heel on the brute’s snout. The blow was a heavy one, but that bear was not at all surprised. If it was the bear of the previous encounter, it doubtless argued that yearshad brought additional weight and strength to its opponent’s understanding. It was not to be daunted, but instantly seized the wooden leg in its angry jaws. Jake’s yells for help continued; but the bear, the moment it discovered that the limb on which it was chewing was of good white oak, fell a prey to astonishment, if not alarm.
“It dropped the leg, backed off a few paces, sat down upon its haunches, and gazed at this strange and inedible species of man. Jake realized at once the creature’s bewilderment; but the crisis was such a painful one that the humor of the situation failed to strike him.
“After a few moments of contemplation, the bear made a fresh attack. It was hungry, and perhaps thought some other portion of Jake’s body might prove more delicate eating than his leg. Jake, however, gave it no chance to try. The next hold the bear got was upon the very end of the oaken member, where the iron ring proved little to its taste. It tried fiercely for another hold; but Jake in his desperate struggles, endowed with the strength of his terror, succeeded in foiling it in every attempt. At length, with the utmost force of his powerful thigh, he drove the end of the leg right into the beast’s open mouth, inflicting a serious wound. Blood flowed freely from the animal’s throat; and presently, after a moment of hesitation, having probably concluded that the morsel was not savoryenough to justify any further struggle, the bear moved sullenly away, coughing and whining.
“Jake lay quite still till his vanquished antagonist had disappeared in the covert. Then he rose and wended his way homeward, thinking to himself how much better his wooden leg had served him than an ordinary one could have done. In a few minutes he was met by some of his fellow-townsmen, who were hastening to find out the cause of all the noise. To them Jake related the adventure with great elation, adding, as he concluded, ‘You see, now, how everything turns out for the best. If I hadn’t lost that ere leg of mine this night ten year ago, I’d have mebbe lost my head this very evening!’
“In spite of Jake Dimball’s reputation for truthfulness, his story was not believed in the village of Second Westcock. It was voted altogether too improbable, from whatever side it was looked at. In fact, so profoundly incredulous were his fellow-villagers, that Jake could not even organize a bear-hunt. Some ten days later, however, his veracity received ample confirmation. A man out looking for strayed cattle in the woods not more than a couple of miles from Jake’s pasture, found a large bear lying dead in a cedar swamp. Examining the body curiously to find the cause of death, he was puzzled till he recalled Jake’s story. Then he looked at the dead brute’s throat. The mystery was solved; and the community was once forall convinced of the fighting qualities of the wooden leg.”
“That’s a good story,” said Magnus. “In a vague way it reminds me of one which is as unlike it as anything could well be. Mine is a tropical tale. Let the O. M. enter it as—
I got it at first-hand when I was in Halifax last autumn.
“In the tiny office of the ‘Cunarder’ inn the air was thick with smoke. The white, egg-shaped stove contained a fire, though September was yet young; for a raw night fog had rolled in over Halifax, making the display of bright coals no less comforting than cheerful. From the adjacent wharves came the soft washing and whispering of the tide, with an occasional rattle of oars as a boat came to land from one of the many ships.
“The density of the atmosphere in the office was chiefly due to ‘Al’ Johnson, the diver, who, when he was not talking, diving, eating, or sleeping, was sure to be puffing at his pipe. We had talked little, but now I resolved to turn off the smoke flowing from Johnson’s pipe by getting him to tell us a story. He could never tell a story and keep his pipe lit at the same time.
“Johnson was a college-bred man, whom a love of adventure had lured into deep-sea diving. Heand his partner were at this time engaged in recovering the cargo of the steamer Oelrich, sunk near the entrance to Halifax harbor.
“I asked Johnson, ‘Do you remember promising me a yarn about an adventure you had in the pearl-fisheries?’
“‘Which adventure? and what pearl-fisheries?’ Johnson asked. ‘I’ve fished at Tinnevelli, and in the Sulu waters off the Borneo coast, and also in the Torres Strait; and wheresoever it was, there seemed to be pretty nearly always some excitement going.’
“‘Oh,’ said I, ‘whichever you like to give us. I think what you spoke of was an adventure in the Torres Strait.’
“‘No,’ said Johnson, ‘I think I’ll give you a little yarn about a tussle I had with a turtle in the Sulu waters. I fancy there isn’t much that grows but you’ll find it somewhere in Borneo; and the water there is just as full of life as the land.’
“‘Sharks?’ I queried.
“‘Oh, worse than sharks!’ replied Johnson. ‘There’s a big squid that will squirt the water black as ink; and just then, perhaps, something comes along and grabs you when you can’t defend yourself. And there’s the devil-fish, own cousin to the squid, and the meanest enemy you’d want to run across anywhere. And there’s a tremendous giant of a shell-fish,—a kind of scalloped clam, that lies with its huge shells wide open, buthalf hidden in the long weeds and sea-mosses. If you put your foot intothattrap—snap!it closes on you, and you’re fast! That clam is a good deal stronger than you are; and if you have not a hatchet or something to smash the shell with, you are likely to stay there. Of course your partner in the boat up aloft would soon know something was wrong, finding that he couldn’t haul you up. Then he would go down after you, and chop you loose perhaps. But meanwhile it would be far from nice, especially if a shark came along—if another clam does not nab him, for one of these big clams has been known to catch even a shark. Many natives thereabouts do a lot of diving on their own account, and, of course, don’t indulge in diving-suits. I can tell you, they are very careful not to fall afoul of those clam-shells; for when they do they’re drowned before they can get clear.’
“‘You can hardly blame the clam, or whatever it is,’ said I. ‘It must be rather a shock to its nerves when it feels a big foot thrust down right upon its stomach!’
“‘No,’ assented Johnson; ‘you can’t blame the clam. But besides the clam, there is a big turtle that is a most officious creature, with a beak that will almost cut railroad iron. It is forever poking that beak into whatever it thinks it doesn’t know all about; and you cannot scare it as you can a shark. You have simply got to kill it before itwill acknowledge itself beaten. These same turtles, however, at the top of the water or on dry land would, in most cases, prove as timid as rabbits. And then, as you say, there are the sharks,—all kinds, big and little, forever hungry, but not half so courageous as they get the credit of being.’
“‘I suppose,’ I interrupted, ‘you always carried a weapon of some sort!’
“‘Well, rather!’ said Johnson. ‘For my own part, I took a great fancy to the ironwood stakes that the natives always use. But they didn’t seem to me quite the thing for smashing those big shells with, supposing a fellow should happen to put his foot into one. So I made myself a stake with a steel top, which answered every purpose. More than one big shark have I settled with that handspike of mine; and once I found, to my great advantage, that it was just the thing to break up a shell with.’
“‘Ha, ha!’ laughed Best, who had been listening rather inattentively hitherto. ‘Soyouput your foot in it, did you?”
“‘Yes, I did,’ said Johnson. ‘And that is just what I’m going to tell you about. I was working that season with a good partner, a likely young fellow hailing from Auckland. He tended the line and the pump to my complete satisfaction. I’ve never had a better tender. Also, I was teaching him to dive, and he took to it like a loon. His name was “Larry” Scott; and if he had lived,he would have made a record. He was killed about a year after the time I’m telling you of, in a row down in New Orleans. But we won’t stop to talk about that now.
“‘As I was saying, Larry and I pulled together pretty well from the start, and we were so lucky with our fishing that the fellows in the other boats began to get jealous and unpleasant. You must know that all kinds go to the pearl-fisheries; and the worst kinds have rather the best of it, in point of numbers. We were ready enough to fight, but we liked best to go our own way peaceably. So, when some of the other lads got quarrelsome, we just smiled, hoisted our sail, and looked up a new ground for ourselves some little distance from the rest of the fleet. Luck being on our side just then, we chanced upon one of the finest beds in the whole neighborhood.
“‘One morning, as I was poking about among the seaweed and stuff, I came across a fine-looking bunch of pearl-shells. I made a grab at them, but they were firmly rooted and refused to come away. I laid down my handspike, took hold of the cluster with both hands, and shifted my foothold so as to get a good chance to pull.
“‘Up came the bunch of shells at the first wrench, much more readily than I had expected. To recover myself I took a step backward; down went my foot into a crevice, “slumped” into something soft, andsnap!my leg was fast in a gripthat almost made me yell there in the little prison of my helmet.
“‘Well, as you may imagine, just as soon as I recovered from the start this gave me, I reached out for my handspike to knock that clam-shell into flinders. But a cold shiver went over me as I found I could not reach the weapon! As I laid it down, it had slipped a little off to one side; and there it rested about a foot out of my reach, reclining on one of those twisted conch-shells such as the farmers use for dinner-horns.
“‘How I jerked on my leg trying to pull it out of the trap! That, however, only hurt the leg. All the satisfaction I could get was in the thought that my foot, with its big, twenty-pound, rubber-and-lead boot, must be making the clam’s internal affairs rather uncomfortable. After I had pretty well tired myself out, stretching and tugging on my leg, and struggling to reach the handspike, I paused to recover my wind, and consider the situation.
“‘It was not very deep water I was working in, and there was any amount of light. You have no sort of idea, until you have been there yourself, what a queer world it is down where the pearl-oyster grows. The seaweeds were all sorts of colors—or rather, I should say, they were all sorts of reds and yellows and greens. The rest of the colors of the rainbow you might find in the shells which lay around under foot, or went crawlingamong the weeds; and away overhead darted and flashed the queerest looking fish, like birds in a yellow sky. There were lots of big anemones too, waving, stretching, and curling their many-colored tentacles.
“‘I saw everything with extraordinary vividness about that time, as I know by the clear way I recollect it now; but you may be sure I wasn’t thinking much just then about the beauties of nature. I was trying to think of some way of getting assistance from Larry. At length I concluded I had better give him the signal to haul me up. Finding that I was stuck, he would, I reasoned, hoist the anchor, and then pull the boat along to the place of my captivity. Then he could easily send me down a hatchet wherewith to chop my way to freedom.
“‘Just as I had come to this resolve, a black shadow passed over my head, and I looked up quickly. It was a big turtle. I didn’t like this, I can tell you; but I kept perfectly still, hoping the new-comer would not notice me.
“‘He paddled along very slowly, with his queer little head stuck far out, and presently he noticed my air-tube. It seemed to strike him as decidedly queer. My blood fairly turned to ice in my veins as I saw him paddle up and take hold of it in a gingerly fashion with his beak. Luckily, he didn’t seem to think it would be good to eat; but I knew that if he should bite it I would be a dead man in about a minute, drowned inside my helmet like a rat in a hole. It is in an emergency like this that a man learns to know what real terror is.