XVIA VISITOR
The next day the boys started early on the return trail to Ben, accompanied by Bill and Moze. They had long since learned to love the great silent forest, and as they went on they constantly called attention to some one of its manifold beauties.
Moze, now quite recovered from his honorable wounds, dashed on ahead as usual. His short, snappy bark echoed through the woods as he sped away on each fresh trail that crossed his path.
Realizing that they had a long trip before them, and anxious to reach the cabin in daylight, they paid no attention to his urgent appeals, but kept steadily to their course. Although quite deep in some places, the snow was dry and powdery, and the walking was easy.
Coming to an open spot in the woods where the snow had been piled into drifts by the wind, the boys saw something which greatlysurprised them. A covey of grouse were flushed at the edge of the timber, and thundered away into the clearing. Like a meteor a feathered form dropped from the sky, and the grouse dove beneath the soft snow. The baffled hawk made a vicious sweep over the spot where they had disappeared, and then, rising, flew off above the tree-tops.
Bill led the lads to the place and pointed out the individual dents in the snow, beneath which the birds were buried. Stooping down, he spread his hands apart and, plunging them suddenly beneath the white surface, brought up a fine, plump grouse. He released it immediately, and said that none but a “pot-hunter” would take so noble a bird in that despicable manner. The boys had much sport grabbing beneath the snow for the balance of the covey, and refused to move on until they had each caught and released several of the struggling birds. Bill assured them this is a trick of the grouse when pursued by winged enemies where cover is scarce.
At another place they saw many moose tracks, some old, others quite fresh. Numerous young birch trees in the near vicinity were bowed to earth, and a few were broken off at greater or lesser distances from the ground. All of them had been stripped of their smallerbranches and shoots. The boys were at a loss to account for it, until Bill said that the animals had been “riding down” the trees to browse on the tender branches and tops. He explained how a moose straddles such a tree with his fore legs and then proceeds to bend it earthward by walking along with the supple trunk beneath his heavy body.
When the sun was directly overhead they halted by the side of a woodland spring to eat their lunch. It was a warm spot, sheltered from the wind by tall trees. The sunlight found its way down between the branches and warmed a broad, flat rock on which they sat and ate. The brisk walk in the sharp air had put a keen edge to their appetites, and Bill laughed at the way the luncheon disappeared.
Moze came in panting and hot from an exhausting chase. He was speedily provided with his share of the food, which he gulped down with little attention to table manners.
Then they “hit the trail” again. Moze, evidently very tired, was content to follow slowly along at their heels. Suddenly he stopped, raised his head, and sniffed the air suspiciously. The hair along the back of his neck rose instantly, and he began to growl.
“He’s got wind of something,” declaredBill, halting and searching the forest with his eyes.
“What do you suppose it is?” asked Ed.
“Don’t know; I can’t see any tracks. What’s the matter, Moze?” inquired the trapper, addressing his hound.
For answer the dog uttered a long, dismal howl and dashed away into the woods, his nose held high against the wind. For some time his excited yelps could be heard ringing through the forest. Finally they died away in the distance as he ran out of hearing.
“Well, there’s no use waiting for him,” said Bill. “He’s gone the other way.”
Once more they resumed the journey, though the boys would have lingered there in the hope that Moze might drive something to them. Farther on they came to the fresh trail of what Bill declared was a large lynx. They wondered if it was this animal that had enticed Moze into a chase.
Just beyond, Bill was much surprised to find fresh moccasin tracks headed in the direction he and the boys were traveling. The unknown footprints soon branched off to follow some deer tracks, and the trapper wondered who the mysterious hunter might be.
Suddenly they heard a rifle-shot, far to the right, and a second one a moment afterward.They halted at once, and the boys turned to Bill for an explanation.
“Whoever that is has got his deer, I reckon,” he said, when the echo of the reports had subsided. “There’s nobody hunts this country except Ben and me; not unless it’s Indian Pete.”
“Indian Pete?” chorused the lads, thoroughly interested by the possibilities of such a name.
“Yes, he’s an old Indian trapper who wanders down here from the north. Pretty good old fellow, too. Did me a big favor once.”
“Are there Indians near here?” inquired George.
“No; he’s the last of a tribe that lived north of here a long time ago. Most of them died off, or went to a reservation, which is about the same thing; but Pete did some jobs for the State and stayed here. When he became too old to work he built himself a little shack, and lives by hunting and trapping. If it’s Pete, we’ll probably find him at the cabin, ’cause he and Ben are great friends.”
When the sun hung low and the early shadows of a winter afternoon began to gather, Bill halted and pointed to a spot far below them, where lay the lake in front of thecabin. The little log abode was not visible, but a thin, wavering column of blue smoke rose above the tops of the pines and showed them where it was. They knew that the guide was expecting them for supper.
“I can almost smell the biscuits,” laughed Ed.
“And the bacon, and beans, and coffee, and—” began George.
“Hold on there, son! You’ll get indigestion smelling so fast,” Bill laughed, as they hurried on down the mountain.
It was almost dark by the time they had crossed the lake. Their loud helloas brought Ben to meet them.
“Thought you fellows had deserted me,” he laughed, when they drew near. “Helloa, Bill, I’m powerful glad to see you; walk in. Hey, Moze, you old black rascal!”
A tall, straight figure in buckskin rose and greeted Bill. The boys gazed, fascinated, for it was none other than Indian Pete.
“Pete, these are the fellows I’ve been telling you about. Shake hands with Ed Williams and George Rand,” commanded the guide.
The lads beamed with pleasure when the long, bony hand of the Indian closed tightly over their own. For a moment or two he stood smiling down at them. Then he relaxedhis friendly grasp and resumed his seat.
Bill learned that the tracks they had seen had been made by Pete. The two shots had sealed the doom of a noble five-prong buck, which now hung outside the cabin. While the Indian and the trapper conversed, Ben busied himself with the preparation of the evening meal.
The boys, left to themselves, noted Indian Pete’s well-proportioned athletic figure; his coarse, straight black hair, which fell below the square shoulders; his wrinkled, copper-colored face, with its prominent nose and cheek bones, and most particularly his penetrating black eyes, which looked directly into those of the listener.
Although Bill had told them that Pete was well over seventy years, they would not have judged him to be more than fifty-five or sixty. The lads looked on him admiringly as a superb specimen of well-preserved manhood. They were so much interested in the old Indian that for the time being they forgot all about “Snow Ball,” the captive owl.
They were soon reminded of his presence in a most startling manner. Moze, in wandering about the room, crawled inquisitively under one of the bunks. Instantly there wasa terrific commotion, and the hound promptly bounded out with “Snow Ball” holding fast to his tail.
The poor dog raced twice around the room before the great white bird lost its grip. Then, finding himself free, Moze tried to retrieve his reputation. He dashed bravely at his new-found adversary. It instantly turned over on its back and scratched his nose with its sharp talons. The dog jumped away with a yelp of pain, and seemed content, thereafter, to stand out of harm’s way and express his opinion in a series of savage barks.
Laughing heartily, Bill took hold of him, and Ben caught up the owl and set it on a perch which he had made for it. The bird allowed itself to be freely handled by the guide, who promptly fastened a small chain about its leg and left it serenely preening its ruffled plumage and glaring fiercely at Moze.
“Those two will be enemies for life, I reckon,” prophesied Bill.
“How on earth did you ever make ‘Snow Ball’ so tame?” Ed inquired.
“Just fed and treated him well; which will bring ’most any wild creature around.”
They all gathered about the table to do full honor to the supper which Ben had prepared. He and Bill exchanged glances of amusementwhen the boys chose their seats, one on either side of Indian Pete.
“By gracious, to-morrow will be Christmas!” cried George, later, as they were sitting before the stove.
“Strange we’ve had no word from home,” said Ed, in a disappointed tone.
“Don’t let it worry you, son,” drawled Ben, rising and going to the book-shelf. “There are several letters and books here for you. Yes, and a big box, too, over beyond, under that robe; but it’s not to be opened until to-morrow.”
He handed the letters and magazines to Ed and George, winking at Bill as he resumed his seat.
“How did you get them?” asked Ed.
“Why, Tom Westbrook came over and took me to town.”
The boys read the letters from home with much enjoyment. When they had finished, they went over to the box and began raising the folds of the robe that hid it.
The guide playfully dragged them away. Then they promised that they would not open the box until the next morning if Indian Pete would tell a story, and his tale of a single-handed fight with a wolf closed the evening.