VIAN INTERESTING AFTERNOON
The boys slept late the next morning. When they did finally open their smarting eyes, the sunlight was streaming through the cabin windows. They ate a tardy breakfast which the guide had saved for them, and then went outside to see the damage done by the fire.
Everything was black—tree-trunks, stumps, even the ground. Sticks and twigs lying among the rocks the day before were now rows of gray ashes. The rocks themselves were seamed and cracked from the terrific heat that had passed over them. The foliage of the evergreens was seared and brown. Altogether, it was a scene of desolation.
“Might have been worse,” Bill declared, after he had carefully inspected many of the scorched tree-trunks.
“Yes, I don’t believe it hurt the big timber much,” replied Ben; “it went through too fast.”
The boys thought that for this very reason the fire should have been the more destructive. Ben then carefully explained that the slow-traveling fire, working its way tediously against the wind, or along some sheltered valley, invariably did the most damage. He said that, on account of its very slowness, that type of fire burned everything in its path. On the other hand, the wind-swept flames traveling through at railroad speed very often only scorched the foliage, and were driven on before they had a chance to eat their way into the trees.
Toward noon a fresh breeze came down out of the northwest and drove away most of the smoke. A flock of ducks came with it and alighted in the lake; but it was Sunday, and the lads were not hunting.
At dinner the boys were much pleased when Ben promised to take them on a canoe trip the following day. He said they would go to the beaver-dam, where they might see some of those wonderful animals at work. They listened eagerly while he told how the beavers felled trees, which they cut into proper lengths and floated to the spot chosen for their dam. Ben also promised that they might do some shooting on the way.
Later in the day the boys accompaniedBill down to the shore of the lake. There they saw the flock of ducks floating quietly on the water in a sunny cove some little distance away.
The trapper asked Ed if he would like to try a snap-shot at them, and Ed ran to the cabin for his camera.
While he was gone Bill and George began to cut branches with which to trim and conceal the canoe.
These branches were skilfully piled in bow and stern, and draped over each side of the little craft, until it resembled a floating tree-top, or pile of brush. Once in their places, the occupants would be cleverly hidden from the wary birds.
By the time Ed returned, the job was completed, and Bill bade him take a position in the bow, where he could use the camera to best advantage. George was placed amidships, and the trapper knelt in the stern and paddled them toward the ducks. He sent the canoe gliding forward without once taking his paddle from the water, and the boys marveled at his skill.
As the mass of floating greens slowly approached them, the ducks seemed to become a bit uneasy. The stragglers at once swam in to join the balance of the flock, and soonthe birds were compactly bunched. Gazing at the approaching object suspiciously, the leaders swam nervously about in contracted circles. Then the entire flock moved slowly away in advance of the canoe.
“Do you think they will fly?” whispered George, turning his face cautiously toward Bill.
The trapper shook his head negatively, and placed a finger across his lips as a warning to be still.
The flock was far out of camera-shot, and as they swam along, the drakes called querulously. To the surprise and delight of his companions, Bill immediately replied with a perfect imitation of their calls.
Somewhat reassured by his answer, the ducks halted and began to swim uncertainly to and fro, as they endeavored to identify the mysterious object which was bearing down upon them.
After a time, as Bill ceased paddling and allowed the canoe to drift toward them, urged on by the slight breeze, the birds became less apprehensive. They began plunging their heads beneath the water and splashing it over their backs. And from time to time, as their suspicions became allayed, they lifted their bodies from the water and flapped their wings like a barnyard rooster about to crow.
As the canoe came closer and closer to the unsuspecting flock the boys became impatient. Peering between the branches which shielded them, they could distinctly see the sheen on the plumage of the nearer drakes. With eager, trembling fingers Ed placed his camera in readiness for quick focusing.
At last he could see the birds like tiny specks in the finder, and he was relieved to know that he was actually within focusing range. He kept his gaze riveted on the little square of frosted glass, determined to push the lever and make the exposure, should the ducks rise.
Bill approached still closer. One or two stealthy paddle-strokes, and then he allowed the canoe to drift. So slowly and cautiously was his advance made that the ducks seemed to have lost all fear. No doubt they had mistaken the canoe for part of a floating tree-top. At any rate, Bill soon came within perfect focusing distance. Then, when Ed saw the entire flock plainly outlined in the center of the finder, he pressed the lever of his camera, and the exposure was made.
The click of the shutter was slight, but it had been sufficient to alarm the ducks. With loud, frightened calls they rose from the water, and Ed snapped an exposure ofthem in flight. Then, on whistling wings, they wheeled over the canoe and, towering higher and higher as they circled the lake, flew rapidly from sight over the distant tree-tops.
“Well, you got them without harming a feather,” laughed Bill, well pleased with his work.
“Yes, and I must thank you,” said Ed, gratefully. “It was wonderful—the way you worked up to them. I shall have some enlargements made from that negative and will send you one, if they’re good, Bill.”
“All right, my son, I’ll be glad to have it,” declared Bill. “Guess we won’t need all this browse around us any longer.” And he and the boys began throwing the branches overboard.
“What kind of ducks were they?” inquired George.
“Wood-ducks, the prettiest little ducks that swim,” replied Bill. “Funny, too; they usually build their nest in a hollow tree, and when the ducklings are hatched, carry them to the water in their bills.”
When the canoe was at last clear of branches the trapper paddled slowly up the lake, his keen eyes constantly alert for something interesting.
Suddenly he brought the canoe to a stop and nodded toward the forest.
“Look half-way up that hemlock, over in that open space,” he said, softly.
The boys heeded his warning, and saw a small black animal on one of the limbs. It seemed to be gnawing the bark, and was evidently entirely unaware of their approach.
“What is it?” asked Ed.
“Porcupine,” explained Bill.
“Can’t we go over to it?” pleaded George.
“We’ll try; I’d like you to see one close by,” and the trapper urged the canoe shoreward.
“‘What funny things you see when you haven’t got a gun,’” quoted Ed, laughing.
“And usually on Sunday,” added George, “when you couldn’t shoot if you had one.”
Bill handled the canoe carefully until he got it in line with a large tree, which shielded them from the sight of the porcupine. Then he dug his paddle hard into the water and sent the light craft toward the bank at top speed.
As the boys were scrambling hastily ashore, they heard a scratching of bark, followed by a peculiar, complaining sort of grunt, which apparently came from the direction of the hemlock.
“He’s climbing down! Hurry after him, he can’t run fast!” shouted Bill, as he jumped from the canoe.
When they came in sight of the tree, the boys saw the porcupine shuffling awkwardly along some distance ahead of them. Instantly they gave chase, with Bill close at their heels. When they overtook their quarry the lads suddenly halted and broke out into peals of laughter at the antics of the stupid creature before them. Finding itself unable to escape by direct flight, the clumsy animal had deliberately rolled itself into a sort of ball. And, as it lay helpless in the very path of its pursuers, there rose from its body a mass of sharply pointed yellow-tipped quills, or spines.
“Look out! Don’t touch it!” warned Bill.
“Why, what a strange-looking beast it is!” cried Ed, instantly focusing his camera.
“Looks like it was stuck full of hat-pins,” laughed George.
“It is, and you’ll be, too, if you touch it!” declared the trapper.
Then he began to prod it gently with his paddle. Quickly it straightened out and made a vicious swing at the ashen blade with its quill-filled tail.
“That’s the way he drives the darts intoyou. See them fall out each time he strikes the paddle?” said Bill.
The boys saw several quills fall to the ground every time the porcupine struck the paddle-blade with its tail.
Bill declared the creature a nuisance on account of its habit of stripping trees of their bark, which seemed to be its principal article of diet. And with this he began to look for a club; but the boys begged for mercy, and the porcupine’s life was spared him.
They remained for some time watching the queer creature, which turned its head slyly in their direction and blinked at them with little stupid eyes. Then, when they had withdrawn a few yards, the porcupine rose to its feet and resumed its laughable attempt at flight. The boys at once ran to the spot where it had been and gathered up the shed quills, which, after carefully examining, they fastened in their caps.
When they were again in the canoe, Bill told them that the porcupine would often come boldly into camp and destroy every piece of hide or leather it could find, as well as anything, even wood, on which there chanced to be a bit of grease. He added that few animals in the woods cared to attack the porcupine, unless forced to do so by ascarcity of food-supply and the pangs of hunger.
“You see, the quills get into their mouths and work down into their throats and stomachs. I’ve found lynxes which had starved to death on account of having their throats full of porcupine quills,” explained the trapper.
“Served them right for attacking so peaceful a citizen,” declared Ed, in defense of this abused animal.
“Not so fast, son, not so fast!” laughed Bill. “Now, just suppose you were on some island where you were starving. Then, suppose a miserable little mite of a fish came close to shore and stranded before your famished eyes. You’d be glad enough to grab him and eat him raw. Well, suppose after you’d swallowed him you found a hundred burning, piercing needles in your throat and tongue. Finally, suppose you staggered around for days in agony, trying to get them out, till you dropped and died in torture. Think you’d have deserved such an end just because you tried to keep the breath of life in your body?”
The boys were silent and thoughtful as Bill ceased speaking and paddled them slowly toward the cabin. They had changed their opinions of the starving lynxes.
When they landed at the little log dock, the lads turned and gazed for a long time out across the placid water at the beauty of the sunset scene.
In the west hung a mass of pearl-colored clouds whose ragged edges were tinged with shining gold. The upper rim of the setting sun was barely visible above a ridge of distant pines. The hush of closing day had fallen on the wilderness. Smooth and unruffled, like a mirror, the lake caught and reflected the changing tints of the evening sky. Then a thin, steam-like mist began to rise along its borders.
“Come on; time to go home,” called Bill.
That night the boys expressed a wish to go with the trapper on one of his expeditions. To their great joy Bill promptly agreed to take them before spring. He said he would show them how to set all kinds of traps and how to cure pelts.
Ben reminded them that Sunday was the proper day for letter-writing, and said it would be a fine chance to send word home, as Bill expected to start for town at daylight. The boys wrote enthusiastic accounts of their experiences since coming to the woods. Then they gave the letters to the care of the trapper, to be mailed at the far-off settlement.They thought it a very long walk for Bill to undertake, and told him so. He only laughed and replied that such distances were nothing “when your legs once get tuned to the trail.”
They turned in early, and, for the first time since their arrival, the boys failed to hear the flying squirrels scampering about above them. They spoke to Ben about it, and he said it had become too cold for the little night prowlers.