CHAPTER XVTHE POWER OF MUSICDolph could not but watch the actions of his camp mate with considerable curiosity and satisfaction, at this stage of the game.Teddy had had more or less experience in woodcraft, and long ago learned many of the lessons so essential in the make-up of a clever still hunter. To him the leaves of the forest spoke as eloquently as printed pages in a book did to the other canoe cruiser. He could read the language of the trail, and discover a score of valuable things, from signs that would never be noticed by ordinary eyes or at least deemed of no importance.When an observing lad has spent considerable time in these Northern woods, the voices of Nature speak to him in the wailing of the wind whispering secrets as it stirs the branches of the pines; he hears another story in the thunder tones of the rushing rapids; the crash of the summer storm; the whisper of sunrise; the chatter of the little woods folks excited over his presence in their favorite haunts—helearns by degrees to match his wits against their cunning, and to discover every secret connected with their mode of living, so that the curtain of mystery is rolled away for his eyes, and he lives in a world totally unknown to many others of his kind.Teddy had practiced this art of creeping silently through the woods, when stalking the timid deer, and perhaps also the lordly caribou over in Canada. He certainly had all the little wrinkles down pretty fine—at least Dolph thought so, as he followed in his wake, endeavoring the best way he could to imitate these noiseless movements.So, foot by foot, and yard by yard, they drew nearer the strange cabin.As yet not a sound had been heard, to indicate that the place had any inhabitant; though the light shining from the small opening that might be called a window, must be set down as conclusive evidence on that score, since lights ordinarily do not spring into existence without the aid of human hands.Twice Teddy halted until his chum came alongside. Then he would whisper a few words in his ear, after which the forward movement would be resumed.All at once both boys came to a suddenpause, and crouched there, listening to certain sounds that had broken loose.Plainly these sprang from a fiddle—a violin is unknown by any other name than this, in the backwoods country, where the “fiddler” is always in great demand at the husking bees and barn dances.Undoubtedly some one was sawing a bow across the catgut strings of an instrument and it was evident from the chords resulting from this effort that the player was no greenhorn.Teddy pinched the arm of his chum when the latter came alongside, and whispered, “Amos.”He had heard the woods boy scrape a bow more than a few times, and recognized his “touch” instantly. Indeed, Teddy had more than once regretted that he had decided against the other bringing his old fiddle along. With it in camp Amos would have been enabled to make many an evening around the fire seem more sociable.Apparently then, Amos must have discovered some sort of old instrument in the cabin occupied by Crawley, the trapper and poacher. Overtaken by an irresistible inclination to make music, he had eagerly pounced upon the same, tuned up, and started in.The music stopped several times, and a twanging followed. Amos evidently was having more or less trouble in making the old fiddle behave.Somehow the sounds thrilled Teddy, and he found himself wondering what the result would be. Would the two scoundrels, possibly in hiding close by, rush upon the scene, and demand that the noise stop forthwith?After all, why should they do this? It was an object with them to have the other two boys believe that Amos was being suitably entertained, so that with suspicions wholly disarmed they would walk innocently into the trap?Ah! now the woods boy seemed to fancy that he had tuned the old violin as well as might be done; either that, or else he could no longer hold his desire to play under bonds.With a sudden swing of the bow he started into “Money Musk,” always a prime favorite among the loggers in the winter camps, who, in their times of leisure, danced for an hour, and usually to some of these good old tunes.Amos was a “good one” with the bow. He could make that fiddle fairly laugh and weep by turns, as he coaxed the vibrating strings.Dolph had heard many kinds of music indifferent corners of the wide world, whither he had traveled with his father. He had sat and listened to the most famous artists of Europe, and eagerly drank in the sounds as only a true lover of melodious combinations can. He had felt his soul aroused by the grand crash of orchestras led by celebrated composers. He had sat through scores of operas, and applauded the famous song birds, with voices worth thousands of dollars a night to the fortunate possessors.And yet this boy could not remember of ever having been so thrilled by the sound of music in all his life, as when crouching there in that thicket, just outside the “haunted” cabin, listening to the weird playing of his camp mate, Amos.Say what you will, the surroundings have everything to do with the effect produced by music. A wild, barbaric crash of tom toms appeals more effectively to sentiment if heard among the queer lodges of a Zulu “Kraal” in South Africa, than the same strain could ever do under the towering roof of a London music hall.So it was in this case. The danger that hovered over them, the state of Nature by which they were surrounded; and the factthat this lonely cabin in the pine woods was said to be haunted by spirits of the dead trappers—all these things united to thrill the nerves of an excitable boy like Dolph Bradley, and give him the sensation of his life.The fiddle seemed to moan and laugh and even sob, as the delighted Amos drew his magic bow over the strings, until the whole vicinity appeared to be filled with strange spirit voices.Had any wandering basket-making Chippewa Indian, or nomad timber cruiser, his mind filled with an ardent belief in ghosts, chanced to pass within hearing distance of those ramshackle walls on this particular night, the chances were he would have fled in abject terror, upon hearing such strange sounds.When Amos had reached the end of his tune, after repeating the refrain in a minor key, he immediately struck up “Dixie,” and from this whipped off upon the well-known strains of the “Arkansaw Traveler.”That air has aroused wild enthusiasm in many a concert hall, but it certainly never thrilled human hearts more than on this occasion.Dolph could hardly keep his feet still; while Teddy was drawing himself along in the direction of the little window, as though bent upon investigating, and seeing for himself if it could be Amos producing those wondrous strains.When Teddy presently reached the wall of the old cabin, he raised his head until his wondering eyes took in the strange scene beyond. It was so that Dolph found his chum when he, too, reached the spot, to also stare.Amos was in plain view, squatted on the floor. He held the end of the old instrument tucked under his chin, regulation fashion, with the most caressing air imaginable. For the time being Amos had apparently forgotten his surroundings, forgotten everything else in the world, perhaps, save that after a long lapse he was again happy in being able to coax those sobbing strings to give out the music he loved so well.Indeed, just then his eyes were shut, as though he might be in a half trance; but Teddy knew this was a favorite habit with the young lumberjack, indicating that he was wrapped up in his playing, and in the seventh heaven of delight.But this was not all.Sitting on a low three-legged stool close by, and leaning forward, with her chin held in her hand, and her big blue eyes fastened upon the fiddler in wonder, was a girl of ten or twelve years of age. She seemed actually fascinated by those wonderful strains which now sprang from the instrument that was doubtless often sadly racked by her uncultured father, in his endeavor to play.Now, Teddy knew full well about the old story of mermaids tempting luckless mariners to their doom. He also understood that many a trap has been baited with music or a pretty face in times gone by. But everything went to tell him that Amos was playing just because he had discovered an old fiddle, and not that his captors wanted him to do so.Indeed this fact was immediately proven, for even as Teddy looked into the place he detected a movement in the direction of the door, which swung open, to admit the burly figure of the game poacher, Crawley.Teddy’s first thought was that the man had become enraged at this unwarranted outburst of sound from the boy prisoner, and that he had rushed to the spot to hoarselydemand that the noise cease, on pain of punishment.He even anticipated seeing Crawley foaming at the mouth knowing what a vile temper the greasy old wretch was said to possess. Fearing that Amos might be in danger of rough handling, Teddy gripped the gun he held, and instantly resolved to block that little game, if it were tried.Never was he more mistaken.Crawley, it is true, came into the cabin with the impetuosity of a hurricane, and his hard face was indeed working with some sort of emotion, but it was far from anger.Indeed, the man seemed to be quivering with eagerness, and the hand he stretched out toward the boy on the floor was more indicative of pleading than wrath.Crawley was at that moment fairly transformed. Deep down in his rough soul he must have had a natural love for music which, owing to his clumsiness and lack of education could never find an adequate outlet. Old sinner that he was, probably he had stood many a time and listened as if charmed, to some song bird in the brush; and even the cheery call of the bobolink, heard in the early Spring, may have had the power to make himlook up and listen, when in the act of taking a mink or a muskrat from his traps.Teddy saw this, and greatly marveled. He realized that every day he lived it was possible for him to learn something new. Because a man might be rough and uncouth, and perhaps even lawless in his way of living, was no evidence that he might not have a streak of good deep down in his nature.In Crawley it was perhaps this passion for music; but Teddy guessed it was so very deep down, that it was hardly likely to do himself, or any one else in the world, any good.
CHAPTER XVTHE POWER OF MUSICDolph could not but watch the actions of his camp mate with considerable curiosity and satisfaction, at this stage of the game.Teddy had had more or less experience in woodcraft, and long ago learned many of the lessons so essential in the make-up of a clever still hunter. To him the leaves of the forest spoke as eloquently as printed pages in a book did to the other canoe cruiser. He could read the language of the trail, and discover a score of valuable things, from signs that would never be noticed by ordinary eyes or at least deemed of no importance.When an observing lad has spent considerable time in these Northern woods, the voices of Nature speak to him in the wailing of the wind whispering secrets as it stirs the branches of the pines; he hears another story in the thunder tones of the rushing rapids; the crash of the summer storm; the whisper of sunrise; the chatter of the little woods folks excited over his presence in their favorite haunts—helearns by degrees to match his wits against their cunning, and to discover every secret connected with their mode of living, so that the curtain of mystery is rolled away for his eyes, and he lives in a world totally unknown to many others of his kind.Teddy had practiced this art of creeping silently through the woods, when stalking the timid deer, and perhaps also the lordly caribou over in Canada. He certainly had all the little wrinkles down pretty fine—at least Dolph thought so, as he followed in his wake, endeavoring the best way he could to imitate these noiseless movements.So, foot by foot, and yard by yard, they drew nearer the strange cabin.As yet not a sound had been heard, to indicate that the place had any inhabitant; though the light shining from the small opening that might be called a window, must be set down as conclusive evidence on that score, since lights ordinarily do not spring into existence without the aid of human hands.Twice Teddy halted until his chum came alongside. Then he would whisper a few words in his ear, after which the forward movement would be resumed.All at once both boys came to a suddenpause, and crouched there, listening to certain sounds that had broken loose.Plainly these sprang from a fiddle—a violin is unknown by any other name than this, in the backwoods country, where the “fiddler” is always in great demand at the husking bees and barn dances.Undoubtedly some one was sawing a bow across the catgut strings of an instrument and it was evident from the chords resulting from this effort that the player was no greenhorn.Teddy pinched the arm of his chum when the latter came alongside, and whispered, “Amos.”He had heard the woods boy scrape a bow more than a few times, and recognized his “touch” instantly. Indeed, Teddy had more than once regretted that he had decided against the other bringing his old fiddle along. With it in camp Amos would have been enabled to make many an evening around the fire seem more sociable.Apparently then, Amos must have discovered some sort of old instrument in the cabin occupied by Crawley, the trapper and poacher. Overtaken by an irresistible inclination to make music, he had eagerly pounced upon the same, tuned up, and started in.The music stopped several times, and a twanging followed. Amos evidently was having more or less trouble in making the old fiddle behave.Somehow the sounds thrilled Teddy, and he found himself wondering what the result would be. Would the two scoundrels, possibly in hiding close by, rush upon the scene, and demand that the noise stop forthwith?After all, why should they do this? It was an object with them to have the other two boys believe that Amos was being suitably entertained, so that with suspicions wholly disarmed they would walk innocently into the trap?Ah! now the woods boy seemed to fancy that he had tuned the old violin as well as might be done; either that, or else he could no longer hold his desire to play under bonds.With a sudden swing of the bow he started into “Money Musk,” always a prime favorite among the loggers in the winter camps, who, in their times of leisure, danced for an hour, and usually to some of these good old tunes.Amos was a “good one” with the bow. He could make that fiddle fairly laugh and weep by turns, as he coaxed the vibrating strings.Dolph had heard many kinds of music indifferent corners of the wide world, whither he had traveled with his father. He had sat and listened to the most famous artists of Europe, and eagerly drank in the sounds as only a true lover of melodious combinations can. He had felt his soul aroused by the grand crash of orchestras led by celebrated composers. He had sat through scores of operas, and applauded the famous song birds, with voices worth thousands of dollars a night to the fortunate possessors.And yet this boy could not remember of ever having been so thrilled by the sound of music in all his life, as when crouching there in that thicket, just outside the “haunted” cabin, listening to the weird playing of his camp mate, Amos.Say what you will, the surroundings have everything to do with the effect produced by music. A wild, barbaric crash of tom toms appeals more effectively to sentiment if heard among the queer lodges of a Zulu “Kraal” in South Africa, than the same strain could ever do under the towering roof of a London music hall.So it was in this case. The danger that hovered over them, the state of Nature by which they were surrounded; and the factthat this lonely cabin in the pine woods was said to be haunted by spirits of the dead trappers—all these things united to thrill the nerves of an excitable boy like Dolph Bradley, and give him the sensation of his life.The fiddle seemed to moan and laugh and even sob, as the delighted Amos drew his magic bow over the strings, until the whole vicinity appeared to be filled with strange spirit voices.Had any wandering basket-making Chippewa Indian, or nomad timber cruiser, his mind filled with an ardent belief in ghosts, chanced to pass within hearing distance of those ramshackle walls on this particular night, the chances were he would have fled in abject terror, upon hearing such strange sounds.When Amos had reached the end of his tune, after repeating the refrain in a minor key, he immediately struck up “Dixie,” and from this whipped off upon the well-known strains of the “Arkansaw Traveler.”That air has aroused wild enthusiasm in many a concert hall, but it certainly never thrilled human hearts more than on this occasion.Dolph could hardly keep his feet still; while Teddy was drawing himself along in the direction of the little window, as though bent upon investigating, and seeing for himself if it could be Amos producing those wondrous strains.When Teddy presently reached the wall of the old cabin, he raised his head until his wondering eyes took in the strange scene beyond. It was so that Dolph found his chum when he, too, reached the spot, to also stare.Amos was in plain view, squatted on the floor. He held the end of the old instrument tucked under his chin, regulation fashion, with the most caressing air imaginable. For the time being Amos had apparently forgotten his surroundings, forgotten everything else in the world, perhaps, save that after a long lapse he was again happy in being able to coax those sobbing strings to give out the music he loved so well.Indeed, just then his eyes were shut, as though he might be in a half trance; but Teddy knew this was a favorite habit with the young lumberjack, indicating that he was wrapped up in his playing, and in the seventh heaven of delight.But this was not all.Sitting on a low three-legged stool close by, and leaning forward, with her chin held in her hand, and her big blue eyes fastened upon the fiddler in wonder, was a girl of ten or twelve years of age. She seemed actually fascinated by those wonderful strains which now sprang from the instrument that was doubtless often sadly racked by her uncultured father, in his endeavor to play.Now, Teddy knew full well about the old story of mermaids tempting luckless mariners to their doom. He also understood that many a trap has been baited with music or a pretty face in times gone by. But everything went to tell him that Amos was playing just because he had discovered an old fiddle, and not that his captors wanted him to do so.Indeed this fact was immediately proven, for even as Teddy looked into the place he detected a movement in the direction of the door, which swung open, to admit the burly figure of the game poacher, Crawley.Teddy’s first thought was that the man had become enraged at this unwarranted outburst of sound from the boy prisoner, and that he had rushed to the spot to hoarselydemand that the noise cease, on pain of punishment.He even anticipated seeing Crawley foaming at the mouth knowing what a vile temper the greasy old wretch was said to possess. Fearing that Amos might be in danger of rough handling, Teddy gripped the gun he held, and instantly resolved to block that little game, if it were tried.Never was he more mistaken.Crawley, it is true, came into the cabin with the impetuosity of a hurricane, and his hard face was indeed working with some sort of emotion, but it was far from anger.Indeed, the man seemed to be quivering with eagerness, and the hand he stretched out toward the boy on the floor was more indicative of pleading than wrath.Crawley was at that moment fairly transformed. Deep down in his rough soul he must have had a natural love for music which, owing to his clumsiness and lack of education could never find an adequate outlet. Old sinner that he was, probably he had stood many a time and listened as if charmed, to some song bird in the brush; and even the cheery call of the bobolink, heard in the early Spring, may have had the power to make himlook up and listen, when in the act of taking a mink or a muskrat from his traps.Teddy saw this, and greatly marveled. He realized that every day he lived it was possible for him to learn something new. Because a man might be rough and uncouth, and perhaps even lawless in his way of living, was no evidence that he might not have a streak of good deep down in his nature.In Crawley it was perhaps this passion for music; but Teddy guessed it was so very deep down, that it was hardly likely to do himself, or any one else in the world, any good.
THE POWER OF MUSIC
Dolph could not but watch the actions of his camp mate with considerable curiosity and satisfaction, at this stage of the game.
Teddy had had more or less experience in woodcraft, and long ago learned many of the lessons so essential in the make-up of a clever still hunter. To him the leaves of the forest spoke as eloquently as printed pages in a book did to the other canoe cruiser. He could read the language of the trail, and discover a score of valuable things, from signs that would never be noticed by ordinary eyes or at least deemed of no importance.
When an observing lad has spent considerable time in these Northern woods, the voices of Nature speak to him in the wailing of the wind whispering secrets as it stirs the branches of the pines; he hears another story in the thunder tones of the rushing rapids; the crash of the summer storm; the whisper of sunrise; the chatter of the little woods folks excited over his presence in their favorite haunts—helearns by degrees to match his wits against their cunning, and to discover every secret connected with their mode of living, so that the curtain of mystery is rolled away for his eyes, and he lives in a world totally unknown to many others of his kind.
Teddy had practiced this art of creeping silently through the woods, when stalking the timid deer, and perhaps also the lordly caribou over in Canada. He certainly had all the little wrinkles down pretty fine—at least Dolph thought so, as he followed in his wake, endeavoring the best way he could to imitate these noiseless movements.
So, foot by foot, and yard by yard, they drew nearer the strange cabin.
As yet not a sound had been heard, to indicate that the place had any inhabitant; though the light shining from the small opening that might be called a window, must be set down as conclusive evidence on that score, since lights ordinarily do not spring into existence without the aid of human hands.
Twice Teddy halted until his chum came alongside. Then he would whisper a few words in his ear, after which the forward movement would be resumed.
All at once both boys came to a suddenpause, and crouched there, listening to certain sounds that had broken loose.
Plainly these sprang from a fiddle—a violin is unknown by any other name than this, in the backwoods country, where the “fiddler” is always in great demand at the husking bees and barn dances.
Undoubtedly some one was sawing a bow across the catgut strings of an instrument and it was evident from the chords resulting from this effort that the player was no greenhorn.
Teddy pinched the arm of his chum when the latter came alongside, and whispered, “Amos.”
He had heard the woods boy scrape a bow more than a few times, and recognized his “touch” instantly. Indeed, Teddy had more than once regretted that he had decided against the other bringing his old fiddle along. With it in camp Amos would have been enabled to make many an evening around the fire seem more sociable.
Apparently then, Amos must have discovered some sort of old instrument in the cabin occupied by Crawley, the trapper and poacher. Overtaken by an irresistible inclination to make music, he had eagerly pounced upon the same, tuned up, and started in.
The music stopped several times, and a twanging followed. Amos evidently was having more or less trouble in making the old fiddle behave.
Somehow the sounds thrilled Teddy, and he found himself wondering what the result would be. Would the two scoundrels, possibly in hiding close by, rush upon the scene, and demand that the noise stop forthwith?
After all, why should they do this? It was an object with them to have the other two boys believe that Amos was being suitably entertained, so that with suspicions wholly disarmed they would walk innocently into the trap?
Ah! now the woods boy seemed to fancy that he had tuned the old violin as well as might be done; either that, or else he could no longer hold his desire to play under bonds.
With a sudden swing of the bow he started into “Money Musk,” always a prime favorite among the loggers in the winter camps, who, in their times of leisure, danced for an hour, and usually to some of these good old tunes.
Amos was a “good one” with the bow. He could make that fiddle fairly laugh and weep by turns, as he coaxed the vibrating strings.
Dolph had heard many kinds of music indifferent corners of the wide world, whither he had traveled with his father. He had sat and listened to the most famous artists of Europe, and eagerly drank in the sounds as only a true lover of melodious combinations can. He had felt his soul aroused by the grand crash of orchestras led by celebrated composers. He had sat through scores of operas, and applauded the famous song birds, with voices worth thousands of dollars a night to the fortunate possessors.
And yet this boy could not remember of ever having been so thrilled by the sound of music in all his life, as when crouching there in that thicket, just outside the “haunted” cabin, listening to the weird playing of his camp mate, Amos.
Say what you will, the surroundings have everything to do with the effect produced by music. A wild, barbaric crash of tom toms appeals more effectively to sentiment if heard among the queer lodges of a Zulu “Kraal” in South Africa, than the same strain could ever do under the towering roof of a London music hall.
So it was in this case. The danger that hovered over them, the state of Nature by which they were surrounded; and the factthat this lonely cabin in the pine woods was said to be haunted by spirits of the dead trappers—all these things united to thrill the nerves of an excitable boy like Dolph Bradley, and give him the sensation of his life.
The fiddle seemed to moan and laugh and even sob, as the delighted Amos drew his magic bow over the strings, until the whole vicinity appeared to be filled with strange spirit voices.
Had any wandering basket-making Chippewa Indian, or nomad timber cruiser, his mind filled with an ardent belief in ghosts, chanced to pass within hearing distance of those ramshackle walls on this particular night, the chances were he would have fled in abject terror, upon hearing such strange sounds.
When Amos had reached the end of his tune, after repeating the refrain in a minor key, he immediately struck up “Dixie,” and from this whipped off upon the well-known strains of the “Arkansaw Traveler.”
That air has aroused wild enthusiasm in many a concert hall, but it certainly never thrilled human hearts more than on this occasion.
Dolph could hardly keep his feet still; while Teddy was drawing himself along in the direction of the little window, as though bent upon investigating, and seeing for himself if it could be Amos producing those wondrous strains.
When Teddy presently reached the wall of the old cabin, he raised his head until his wondering eyes took in the strange scene beyond. It was so that Dolph found his chum when he, too, reached the spot, to also stare.
Amos was in plain view, squatted on the floor. He held the end of the old instrument tucked under his chin, regulation fashion, with the most caressing air imaginable. For the time being Amos had apparently forgotten his surroundings, forgotten everything else in the world, perhaps, save that after a long lapse he was again happy in being able to coax those sobbing strings to give out the music he loved so well.
Indeed, just then his eyes were shut, as though he might be in a half trance; but Teddy knew this was a favorite habit with the young lumberjack, indicating that he was wrapped up in his playing, and in the seventh heaven of delight.
But this was not all.
Sitting on a low three-legged stool close by, and leaning forward, with her chin held in her hand, and her big blue eyes fastened upon the fiddler in wonder, was a girl of ten or twelve years of age. She seemed actually fascinated by those wonderful strains which now sprang from the instrument that was doubtless often sadly racked by her uncultured father, in his endeavor to play.
Now, Teddy knew full well about the old story of mermaids tempting luckless mariners to their doom. He also understood that many a trap has been baited with music or a pretty face in times gone by. But everything went to tell him that Amos was playing just because he had discovered an old fiddle, and not that his captors wanted him to do so.
Indeed this fact was immediately proven, for even as Teddy looked into the place he detected a movement in the direction of the door, which swung open, to admit the burly figure of the game poacher, Crawley.
Teddy’s first thought was that the man had become enraged at this unwarranted outburst of sound from the boy prisoner, and that he had rushed to the spot to hoarselydemand that the noise cease, on pain of punishment.
He even anticipated seeing Crawley foaming at the mouth knowing what a vile temper the greasy old wretch was said to possess. Fearing that Amos might be in danger of rough handling, Teddy gripped the gun he held, and instantly resolved to block that little game, if it were tried.
Never was he more mistaken.
Crawley, it is true, came into the cabin with the impetuosity of a hurricane, and his hard face was indeed working with some sort of emotion, but it was far from anger.
Indeed, the man seemed to be quivering with eagerness, and the hand he stretched out toward the boy on the floor was more indicative of pleading than wrath.
Crawley was at that moment fairly transformed. Deep down in his rough soul he must have had a natural love for music which, owing to his clumsiness and lack of education could never find an adequate outlet. Old sinner that he was, probably he had stood many a time and listened as if charmed, to some song bird in the brush; and even the cheery call of the bobolink, heard in the early Spring, may have had the power to make himlook up and listen, when in the act of taking a mink or a muskrat from his traps.
Teddy saw this, and greatly marveled. He realized that every day he lived it was possible for him to learn something new. Because a man might be rough and uncouth, and perhaps even lawless in his way of living, was no evidence that he might not have a streak of good deep down in his nature.
In Crawley it was perhaps this passion for music; but Teddy guessed it was so very deep down, that it was hardly likely to do himself, or any one else in the world, any good.