XIVA LYNX MAKES TROUBLE
A day was spent building a substantial cage of heavy logs. With some difficulty the lynx was placed inside it, to wait until Bill could borrow a team and haul it to the railroad.
Meantime a three-inch fall of snow had made ideal tracking conditions. As the boys were anxious to follow the fresh trails of the various animals, they determined to take advantage of it, and decided to remain at home while Bill made the round of his traps. They told him they would travel about in the neighborhood of the cabin and see what they could find. The trapper gave them permission to do so, and carefully explained the lay of the land near-by.
When he had gone the boys started out, accompanied by Moze. They carried their rifles, a supply of matches, and a substantial lunch. Choosing a prominent landmark for their goal, they trained their compass on it,and entered the inviting confines of the great white wilderness.
They had not gone far when they came to three piles of grouse feathers beneath a towering hemlock. They stooped down to examine them in the hope of finding a clue to the murderer. There were no footprints near these mute evidences of crime; but George discovered some faint, indistinct tracings across the snow. He and Ed studied them for some time, at a loss to know what had made them.
“I have it!” cried Ed, straightening.
“Have what?” queried George, doubtfully.
“Why, those marks have been made by wing-beats. The murderer is some pirate of the air—a hawk, or near relative of ‘Old Snowball,’ I’ll bet!”
“I believe you’re right,” agreed George, looking up into the tree-tops, as though he expected to see the bold marauder still about.
Just then they heard the noisy commotion of a flock of jays, and they instantly made their way in that direction. They recalled the advice of Ben regarding these birds, and stole noiselessly toward the calls, confident of finding game at the end of their stalk. The jays did not appear to be moving, for their cries came continually from the sameplace. Stealing cautiously along from tree to tree, the lads at length came in sight of them. Standing motionless, they saw the jays flying angrily about some large, dark-colored object in the top of a tree.
“Look! It has ears!” whispered Ed, excitedly, as an erect tuft appeared on each side of the broad, flat head.
“It’s an owl of some sort; and see—it’s holding a grouse,” said George.
The jays made many vicious swoops; but the owl always turned its head in time to meet them, and the boys distinctly heard the angry snap of its powerful beak.
“Well, here goes for the murderer!” declared Ed, raising his rifle. “If he had taken one grouse we might have let him off; but three are too many for one meal. He’s a ‘tenderfoot’ and a ‘game-hog,’ and, according to Ben, either charge is enough.”
But the owl evidently had other ideas. Just as Ed pulled the trigger it flew, and his bullet cut the branch directly behind where it had perched. It sailed swiftly away among the trees, with the jays in close pursuit.
“Shoot first and talk afterward,” cautioned George, laughing at the discomfiture of his friend.
Moze was baying somewhere off to the rightof them. They left the owl to the tender mercies of the jays, and turned toward the hound. They went down into a rocky ravine, across a little brook, and up a hill. Then they heard Moze coming up the other side. Hiding themselves in some bushes, they waited for the appearance of the hound and his quarry, which he seemed to be driving directly toward them. His voice rang out clearly in the frosty air, and the blood of the young hunters tingled. What he was running they did not know, and they waited in suspense.
Suddenly a red streak flashed across the opening in front of them and immediately disappeared into the brush again. The boys grinned sheepishly at each other.
Moze followed a minute later, and, glancing at them from the corner of his eye, he raced on in pursuit of the fox.
“Say, we’re getting pretty bad,” declared Ed, lowering his rifle.
“That’s all right, I didn’t guarantee to hit a streak of lightning,” replied George, looking after the fox. “It’s no use waiting for Moze; he’ll be on the other side of the world by night if he keeps up that pace.”
They resumed their journey through the woods, and near the border of a small swale they jumped a “snowshoe rabbit.”
“There goes just the fellow we have been looking for!” shouted Ed, as the nimble hare bounded away.
“Let’s follow him up,” urged George.
“No, thanks; no more swamps for me!” said Ed, shaking his head.
“Oh, come on; this is a tiny one—you can almost see across it. We can’t possibly get lost,” persisted George, eager to follow the hare.
He finally won Ed’s consent, and together they plunged into the swale. This time they prudently chopped small squares from the tree-trunks to serve as sign-posts when they wished to return.
“We’ll never come up with him. Just look at those leaps,” said Ed, hopelessly.
“He may get tired, and perhaps he’ll squat down somewhere,” suggested George.
Much to their satisfaction, they quickly crossed the narrow bit of marshy forest and came out at a sunny slope along its border. Here George spied the hare squatting under a low bush. Taking careful aim, he killed it with the first shot.
They were delighted with their trophy, and George tucked it into the pocket of his coat with much pride. They had no trouble retracing their course, and, once out of theswamp, sat down to enjoy their lunch. They had seen or heard nothing of Moze, and George laughingly declared he would soon be around the earth on the same trail.
After lunch it began to grow cold, and they decided to return to the cabin and await Bill with his spoils from the traps. The lads followed their back-trail, and were soon in sight of the little log shelter.
They went at once to the cage containing the lynx, and when they reached it, drew back in alarm. The savage inmate had chewed and clawed two bars of his prison until they were all but in half. The merest push or jump of the lynx would snap them asunder and gain him his freedom.
“Great Scott! What shall we do?” cried Ed.
“Don’t go in front of it,” advised George. “If you do, he’ll jump; and then, out he comes! We’ll sneak up from the side, throw our coats over the front of the cage and run into the cabin with it.”
“Hurry! He’s getting ready to spring!” warned Ed.
Creeping up to it from the sides, the boys each grabbed an end of the heavy crate. Pulling and tugging with all their might, they managed to drag it into the cabin.
Hardly were they over the threshold, with the door securely fastened behind them, when the lynx did the very thing they feared it might do—it jumped against the front of the cage! There was an ugly snarl, a snapping of weakened logs, and the released captive bounded into the center of the room and faced them.
The boys made record time out through the doorway. Once outside, they slammed the door shut and stood looking at each other with troubled faces.
“The window, quick!” screamed Ed.
George immediately ran to it and hung his coat over the outside, in the hope of preventing the lynx from jumping through the sash. Then he hastily rejoined his friend, who stood braced against the door, anxiously awaiting some sound from within.
“Well, this is a pretty mess!” he declared, when George came up.
“Yes, but it’s lucky we got here when we did,” said George.
“Maybe not so lucky as we imagine. I’ve an idea there’s going to be considerable of a ‘rough-house’ before things become settled. Besides, there are plenty of lynxes in the woods, and perhaps it might have been better to have killed this one when he jumped from the crate.”
“But he doesn’t belong to us,” George reminded him, “and you know the trouble Bill took to capture him. I’m sure he wouldn’t thank us for shooting it in his absence.”
So far the lynx had remained passive, and the boys were at a loss to know just what it was doing. At last curiosity got the better of them, and Ed tiptoed to the window and peered in. With a startled yell he jumped away, stumbled, and fell in a heap. He had gazed directly into the snarling face of the lynx, which was crouched on the narrow window-sill.
Luckily, the animal was as much surprised and frightened as the boy, and instead of crashing through the glass it sprang away from it.
Then pandemonium broke loose, and by the noise that came from inside the boys knew the lynx was making sad havoc of the few furnishings. Pans clattered and clanged to the floor; the table went over with a bang; and in dismay they heard various pieces of crockery tumble from the shelves as the lynx leaped wildly about the little room. At one time he must have alighted on the hot stove, and he gave evidence of the fact by a scream of pain. Then he crashed against the door, and the boys threw their combined weightagainst it. Then he quieted down. Ed and George were anxious to see the damage he had done, but dared not peer through the window, lest they invite an attack.
It grew bitterly cold, and they were obliged to stamp their feet and swing their arms to keep their blood circulating. Several long hours dragged by, and the short winter day came to a close. Still they kept vigil on the outside of the cabin. Again and again the lynx stirred things up, and once their hearts almost stopped, when they heard him strike against the window. It was evidently a glancing blow, for it did not break the glass, and the lads breathed a sigh of relief.
“I wish Bill would show up,” said Ed, swinging his arms and blowing on his benumbed finger-tips.
“Say, suppose he doesn’t come until to-morrow; you know he said he sometimes stayed overnight at a lean-to.”
“Gee whiz, I never thought of that!” cried Ed, in alarm. “We can’t spend the night out here without freezing, and we can’t go inside without killing the lynx! We’re in a bad fix anyway you look at it.”
As darkness gradually settled over the silent white forest the hearts of the boys became heavy. With the fading of daylightthe imprisoned lynx became more active, and once more wild riot raged within the dark room. The temperature dropped steadily, and the shivering young guards were at a loss to know what to do. Even if they decided to take possession of the cabin by killing its dangerous occupant, their chances of doing so were now poor.
“We’ve got to do something—I’m actually freezing to death; and, besides, it seems ridiculous to be turned out of our own home by a great big bully of a cat,” said Ed, through chattering teeth.
“It is pretty tough; but what are we going to do?” asked George. “We haven’t even a lantern, and it’s no place in there to go poking around with a flickering little match.”
Just then they heard the crunch of footsteps on the dry snow, and a moment later Bill stood beside them, a big bundle of furs strapped to his back.
“What’s the matter?” he inquired, anxiously. “I missed the light, and was afraid something must be wrong. Thought maybe you were lost again. Come in. What on earth are you shivering out here for?” And he started to open the door.
“Wait!” cried Ed, excitedly grasping him by the arm.
“Hold on!” warned George, barring his way.
“What in blazes—” began the bewildered trapper; but the boys interrupted him with a hurried recital of facts.
A council of war was immediately held, and Bill was forced to admit that things looked bad. He said he had little hope of retaking the lynx alive, and he seemed much cast down at the idea of killing it.
Then he unslung his pack and drew a keen-bladed ax from it. He made known his intention of entering the cabin, and told the boys, who were eager to accompany him, that they would be in the way and might get hurt. Bill eased their minds by promising to call them if he got into serious trouble.
They opened the door just wide enough for the trapper to squeeze through. When he had entered, they slammed it shut and waited nervously for sounds of the fierce battle they felt sure would immediately begin. They heard Bill strike a match, and for a second a bright flicker of light showed through the cracks in the door. Then it passed, and all was dark. The lynx began growling fiercely as Bill moved about the room in search of the lantern. At last a steady, bright glare lighted up the interior of the cabin, and they knew he had found it.
Instantly the battle started, and, judging by the noise of combat, the listeners believed it was a deadly one. They heard the lynx spring times without number, and each time they heard Bill jump out of its way. He was no doubt trying to stun it with the ax, so that he could again take it alive.
Unable to restrain their impatient curiosity longer, the lads made their way to the window. Cautiously they rose on tiptoe and peeped into the cabin. They saw Bill partly crouched, with the ax in his hands. One sleeve of his hunting-shirt was ripped and torn, where the sharp claws of the lynx had fastened in it. Following the fierce, steady gaze of the trapper, the boys saw the lynx squatting behind an overturned stool.
It had made a sad wreck of the place. All about lay the results of its vengeance. Pots and pans were scattered in wild disorder over the floor, the table had been overturned on top of its contents, and even the personal belongings of the rightful occupants had been ripped from their places and strewn about promiscuously.
Bill slowly approached the crouching lynx, and the boys heard it growl like a big, angry cat. Cautiously the trapper advanced, and they saw him turn the ax in hishand, as though to strike with the blunt end.
CAUTIOUSLY THE TRAPPER ADVANCED
CAUTIOUSLY THE TRAPPER ADVANCED
CAUTIOUSLY THE TRAPPER ADVANCED
Suddenly the lynx sprang at him, and he stepped aside and swung his weapon, but missed. Landing in the center of the room with all four feet beneath it, the snarling creature instantly rebounded, and Bill had barely time to whirl and face the attack. He knocked the determined animal from him with a powerful blow of his ax. It slunk back into a corner, apparently unhurt, and again crouched, with fangs exposed and eyes blazing.
Then something unexpected happened, as a new combatant took a hand in the fray. The door suddenly swung in, and Moze rushed into the room and jumped for the throat of the lynx. He had arrived home from his long chase, and had heard the savage snarls inside the cabin, and, entering, had bounded joyously into the fight.
As the surprised trapper ran to close the door the hound and its adversary came together; Bill, unable to use his ax for fear of killing Moze, hopped out of the way of the fighters.
The boys, proud of the courage displayed by Moze, cheered him on.
The two powerful animals were wellmatched, and the battle was a hard one. They fought all over the room, first one gaining the advantage, then the other. Gouging, snapping, clawing, and snarling, they kept on mauling each other. Once the lynx got Moze beneath it, and would no doubt have speedily ended his career had not Bill aimed a savage kick at its ribs. His action diverted the animal’s attention for an instant and gave the hound a chance to regain his feet. Both combatants were torn and bleeding. Again and again the trapper sought to deal the lynx a fatal blow with the sharp edge of the ax, but Moze was always directly in the way.
At last they drew apart for a moment, and Bill seized the opportunity and rushed upon the great snarling cat with his ax raised. He was unwilling to see Moze further punished in the terrific fighting, and he determined to end it and save his faithful old hound.
When he came within a few feet of it, the lynx jumped directly at his throat. This time, however, Bill did not miss, and his powerful blow buried the blade of the ax deep in the brain of the savage cat, which crashed to the floor in a lifeless heap.
Then the shaking, half-frozen boys rushed in and ran to Moze as he stretched out close to the stove to lick a score of painful wounds.
“Well, old boy, he came near doing you,” said Bill, tenderly, as he knelt to examine the injuries of the brave old fighter.
“Wouldn’t there have been fun if we had gone in before you arrived,” laughed Ed, as he huddled over the stove, trying to thaw out.
“Fun and scratches, likely,” laughed Bill. “These big lynxes are just about as mean a proposition as roams the woods—that is, when you get them cornered for a fight.”
“It’s too bad you were obliged to kill him after all the work of taking him alive,” said Ed, as he stooped down and ran his fingers through the long, soft fur.
“Well, it couldn’t be helped. You see, there are many more lynxes to be had, but there is only one Moze. One or the other had to go, and I guess we know whose side to fight on. Don’t we, ‘old spit-fire’?” and Bill patted Moze affectionately.
By the thumping of his tail on the floor, the boys knew the hound understood this compliment to his valor, and was well content with the way things had turned out.