IXFISHING THROUGH THE ICE
For a week the cold weather continued, and the lakes and ponds became covered with smooth, glistening sheets of ice. The boys, who had brought their skates, enjoyed great sport. Never before had they seen such excellent skating, and Ben advised them to make the most of it before the snow came and spoiled their fun.
One day they spied a fox crossing the lake, and they promptly skated after it. The fleet-footed animal was unable to make speed on the ice, and the boys gained rapidly. The panic-stricken fox slid about and fell constantly in its efforts to dodge its pursuers. Once it ran directly in front of Ed, and sent him sprawling—much to the delight of Ben and George. The guide, who watched the sport from shore, cautioned them against catching the animal with their hands. Therefore they were obliged to content themselves with chasing it to the edge of the woods, where, findingfirm footing at last, it jumped into the bushes and sped away in safety.
Several days later the sun came out bright and warm, and Ben declared it a splendid day to fish through the ice. He promised the boys great sport, should the fish happen to be hungry. He went to a near-by spring and dipped some minnows from a supply stored there. Then he took ten or twelve pieces of lath from a shelf. Each piece was about three feet long, and had a small, round hole bored through its center, near one end. Fastened to this end was a heavy braided fish-line, from the end of which dangled a businesslike-looking hook. Provided with these, the pail of minnows, and two axes, Ben led the way over the lake to a sheltered cove. There he halted at some distance from the shore, for he explained that with the coming of cold weather the fish retired to deeper water.
While he chopped the first hole the guide set the boys at work cutting a number of sticks, about three feet long, small enough to fit loosely through the holes in the pieces of lath. By the time they had cut enough Ben had chopped several holes. The lads were anxious to help, and he surrendered the ax and told them to begin.
They began by chipping small pieces ofice, haphazard, from the center of a tiny circle. The guide instantly stopped them and declared such work would not do. He showed how to cut a circular groove through the ice, keeping all sides of the circle at an even depth until they were on the point of reaching the water; then a clean-cut disk of ice floated free and was pushed back out of the way.
“There’s a knack in everything, boys,” laughed Ben, straightening after he had cut the twelfth and last hole.
They unwound the fish-lines, placed a minnow on each hook, and dropped it into the water. At the same time Ben pushed a stick through the lath and placed it across the opening. Each end of the stick rested on the ice. The lath had its longer half resting on the ice, and its shorter end, from which dangled the line and hook, directly over the water.
Ben explained that when a fish jerked on the line it would pull the short end of the lath down and cause the other end to rise and give warning of a strike. He said such an arrangement was known as a “tip-up.” When the last hole had been baited and set, the anglers went ashore to wait. When one of the “tip-ups” bobbed into the air they were all to rushfor it. The one who got there first and jerked out the fish would win that “heat.”
Suddenly Ben shouted, “There goes number three!” and off he started, with the boys in hot pursuit.
It was no easy matter to keep their feet while dashing at full speed over the glassy surface of the lake. Ed fell flat and slid along with his arms and legs outspread. By the time George reached the hole he was going so fast that he could not stop, and he slid past, vainly endeavoring to turn without falling. When Ed and George had recovered themselves, Ben had reached the opening and tossed a splendid pickerel on the ice.
“You fellows looked like spiders trying to run over a window-pane,” he laughed, as the boys came up puffing.
“Just wait until the next one!” George panted.
“There she goes!” cried Ed; and he made a wild dash for another hole.
George and Ben were right behind him, yelling at the top of their voices. When near the opening Ed thought the best way to stop would be to sit down and slide the remainder of the distance. He did so, but was unaware that his comrades were close behind him; and he was somewhat surprised when Ben wentsailing over his head and George landed astride his back. There was a grand mix-up of arms and legs, as all of them tried to scramble to the hole. Finally Ed managed to crawl to the opening, where he jerked another pickerel from the water.
When they rose to their feet, they saw three “tip-ups” on end, and this time each ran to a different one. Much to the delight of the boys, Ben slipped, and to save himself from plunging into the hole jumped over it at top speed. His feet hit the ice on the other side and instantly shot out from under him, and he slid along on his back, while his young companions whooped.
“Another spider!” cried Ed.
Ben laughed good-naturedly, and, spying another “tip-up” raised, started for it at break-neck speed. Away went the boys at the same instant. In vain they tried to head him off from the side. Again a desperate mix-up ensued, and this time it was George who first got hold of the line. He gave a violent tug. Then the others laughed boisterously, for nothing but the bare hook shot into the air.
After a while it began to cloud over and grow cold and raw. Ben looked at the sky and prophesied snow before dark. Theyspent the remainder of the morning on the ice; but with the disappearance of the sun and the coming of the cold wind, the fish ceased biting. They caught only one or two more before they took up the “tip-ups” at noon and returned to the cabin.
During the afternoon it continued to grow colder. Several times little flurries of snow passed, swirling out across the lake. Ben busied himself in overhauling several pairs of snowshoes, which he said they might soon have need of.
All at once a most unearthly noise sounded from the opposite side of the lake. Ben dropped the snowshoe he was fixing, and listened. It was a combination of howls, whines, yelps, and barks mingled in one great bedlam of sound that greeted their ears.
The guide rushed from the cabin with his rifle, and ran for the shore, the boys close behind him. Whatever made the noise was evidently headed for the lake, with the intention of crossing on the ice.
“They’ve turned!” said Ben, disgustedly.
“What is it?” inquired Ed.
“Wild dogs,” said Ben. “They’re running a deer—bad luck to them! If the deer had only come out on the ice, as it intended, I’dhave dropped a few of the rascals before they got out of range.”
“Wild dogs?” repeated the lads, incredulously.
“Yes, there’s been a pack of them down in the country around Big Otter Pond for several years. Now that they’ve driven most of the game out of there, they’ve moved up into this country. We’ll make it too all-fired hot for them! Wait till Bill hears of it, then you’ll smell gunpowder,” Ben declared, angrily.
The babel from the outlaw pack grew gradually fainter, till at last it ceased, for they had chased their doomed victim out of ear-shot.
“Will they get the deer?” George asked.
“Yes, they’ll get it, all right,” replied Ben. “Nothing escapes them when once they’re hot on the trail. They’re as savage as wolves, and a lot more cunning. That’s why nobody can kill them off.”
When they reached the cabin the guide began the story of the four-footed renegades.
“Some few years ago there was an old half-breed trapper who came down into this country from somewhere up in Canada. With him he brought three dogs which he used on bear. Two of them were great long-eared hounds—mostly bloodhound stock, I guess, savage as lions. The other was a three-quarterEskimo dog which looked for all the world like a big gray timber-wolf.
“Jean Beaupoy—that was the name of the old trapper—kept the dogs tied to stout posts near his cabin. He could do anything he pleased with them, but no one else dared go near where they were. I’ve heard men who chanced to pass say that the dogs would growl and bark long before any one could get near the place. Then old Jean would run out, rifle in hand, and ask who was coming and what they wanted. We sort of got suspicious of the old fellow, and thought maybe he’d run away from the law, and had brought the three half-wild dogs to give him warning and protection.
“Well, one day early in the spring the queer old man was drowned. He had tried to come down through ‘Crazy Man Riffs’ in his canoe. We found the canoe turned bottom side up in the pool at the end of the rapids, but we never found old Jean.
“First we thought his dogs had been drowned with him, ’cause we knew he had them along. But several weeks later a trapper saw them chase a buck deer into a pond. He called them; but at the sound of his voice they snarled like wolves and bounded away before he thought of shooting.
“A year or so after this, reports began to come in about them from all around the county. They’d gathered up other stray dogs by that time and made them cunning, blood-thirsty outlaws like themselves. The big, half-wolf Eskimo dog appeared to be their leader, and some used to say he had found two or three timber-wolves and got them to join his band. But there aren’t any wolves in Maine.
“Finally people began to hunt them; and when they failed to get near enough to shoot, they set poison traps. In that way they managed to kill one or two, and then the pack refused to touch any more of the poisoned bait.
“One winter the trappers organized a hunt to run them down on snowshoes. Although the best men in the county took part, they only succeeded in killing two out of the pack, which by that time had increased considerably.
“Each year they grew bolder and killed more game, till the county offered a reward for killing them, and men went to work to hunt them. But it was no use.
“Perhaps somebody kills one, or maybe two, now and then, but they have increased till there are probably twenty or thirty inthe pack. They’ve chased or killed off all the game around Big Otter Pond way, and now they’ve come yelping and raving up here like a pack of devils.”
“Do they ever attack people?” asked Ed, when the unusual story was finished.
Ben resumed work on the snowshoes, and did not reply.
Ed repeated his query, and the guide was forced into an answer.
“Oh, they’re not dangerous,” he laughed, evading the direct question, and the boys knew he was not so sure of it.
They spent the balance of the day skating on the lake. Toward evening they thought they heard the wild pack again, and they felt that the cabin was the place for them.
Just as they were turning in for the night it began to snow. It came down in little round, stinging pellets, and Ben said this was the sign of a big storm.
Later, when they were warmly blanketed in the bunk, Ed turned to George and said: “I believe we shall be mixed up with that band of wild dogs before we leave here.”
“I’ve been thinking the same thing,” said George.