XVIIIAN ENCOUNTER WITH WILD DOGS
“Snowshoes for a while,” prophesied Ben, looking out at the freshly whitened landscape next morning.
“I’m glad I brought mine,” said Bill.
“You and Pete had better stay here with us another day, and give the drifts a chance to settle some,” Ben invited.
The boys were equally anxious to have two such interesting characters remain, and they urgently seconded the invitation. Pete promptly declined it and made known his intention of departing immediately after breakfast. Bill said that he, too, would leave then. He was anxious to reach the settlement with his furs, and, as he had a long, hard trip before him, was eager to be off.
The morning meal was hurried, that they might make an early start. When it was finished, Bill and Pete began tying on the broad, round snowshoes. Each helped the other to get his pack on his back. Then they badefarewell to their host and the boys and departed on different routes. The Indian turned toward the north and his far-away cabin. The trapper started east toward the distant settlement, where he hoped to dispose of his furs and bank the proceeds.
Ed and George stood in the doorway and watched the two sturdy figures disappear. They hoped to see the trapper again, for he would stop on the return journey to his cabin. But Indian Pete they would probably never again meet, and it was with deep regret they watched his straight form vanish from sight among the trees. True to the custom of his race, he refrained from looking back, even though the lads called to him several times.
Moze returned for a final caress, and seemed greatly to enjoy plowing his way through the deep snow. Bill whistled to him, and then turned and waved his hand to the little group of friends in the doorway.
“Well, there’s one person glad they’re gone,” said Ben, when he and the boys had entered the cabin.
The lads looked at him in surprise and asked who it might be.
“Old ‘Snow Ball,’” he replied, as he released the owl from its cage.
It walked about the floor of the room, andconstantly turned its head, as though fearful that Moze was still somewhere in the vicinity. Ben finally picked it up and put it on the perch, where it seemed more at ease.
“He’ll soon be able to fly, and then I’m afraid it will be good-by to us.”
“Suppose we let him go. We can keep him till spring, and then he’ll go north; so he won’t do much damage to the game about here. I just hate to think that he’s a prisoner. Since I’ve been here with you, Ben, I feel differently about all such things,” declared Ed.
“That’s exactly the way I feel,” added George, “and I would like to see him freed.”
“Well, boys, that’s my idea, too; so the jury will give old ‘Snow Ball’ a verdict in his favor, and turn him loose with the understanding that he’s to quit the country.”
The owl turned his big yellow eyes on them and gave himself one or two vigorous shakes, as though the matter was of little importance, since he had found so good a home.
“I would like to get some pictures before all the snow falls from the trees,” said Ed.
“All right, son; we’ll put on our webs”—Ben’s name for snowshoes—“and go out for a look around.”
“I wouldn’t wonder but what we might find a moose or a deer mired in one of theheavy drifts. If we do, you’ll get a picture worth having,” declared Ben, when they were traveling easily along on their snowshoes.
They saw few tracks, and the guide said the forest creatures had “lain low” during the storm, and would continue to do so until the snow settled or crusted over. Deer and moose, he explained, remained in their “yards” at such times—places similar to the one where the birches were stripped. In such spots, Ben said, these animals trod down and scraped away the snow to obtain the scant food-supply buried beneath. He told the boys that if the animals were driven from these shelters before the snow was sufficiently solid to support them, especially the moose, they would soon become exhausted by the heavy going and fall easy and helpless prey to whatever foe cared to pursue them.
“That’s the way the timber wolves used to kill off quantities of game. They would hunt up a yard of deer or moose, and dash in quickly and scatter them. Then it was an easy task for them to run down the heavier animals in the deep drifts. When they had overtaken a moose helpless in snow above its shoulders, they closed in and tore it to pieces.”
“Listen!” cried George. “What’s that?”
“There they are!” declared Ben. “Just what I expected. They’re doing exactly what I’ve told you about. Wait till we see which way they’re going.”
Standing beneath the snow-burdened evergreens, they heard the ringing cry of the wild hunting pack. It echoed through the woods, now clear and distinct, and again faint and far away, as the hounds topped a rise or descended into an intervening valley.
“Isn’t that the direction Pete went?” inquired Ed, rather uneasily.
“Yes; and if he hasn’t passed, they ought to run right across his trail,” replied Ben, listening intently.
Then the report of a rifle rang sharply through the forest. Another shot quickly followed, and then two more, with scarce a pause between them.
“Come on!” cried Ben, making off at top speed. “The fight’s on; Pete has run into them, sure!”
As they hurried along they noticed that the noise from the pack had subsided. Ben led them toward the spot where they had last heard the wild baying. Soon they came to Pete’s trail, and the guide at once turned into it.
Again the noise sounded forth, this timeto the left of the trail they were following. Ben held to his course, however, believing it would bring them to Pete and the pack sooner than he could go by forsaking it.
Hot and panting in their rapid pace, they finally came to the spot where the Indian had his chance at the pack. The trailers saw where he had jumped behind a small hemlock, to hide, when he heard the outlaw band approaching. About fifty yards farther along the dogs had crossed, and two great black hounds lay dead on the snow.
Ben and the boys stopped for a moment to examine them, and were surprised at their resemblance to wolves. There was no evidence of a battle, and the guide thought Pete had despatched the dogs from ambush.
Carefully examining the trail of the fleeing pack, Ben learned they were in pursuit of a bull moose, a small one, probably a yearling. He found numerous red spots on the snow, and believed that Pete had hit others than the hounds whose bodies bore evidence of his prowess.
“We’ll follow them a ways,” he said. “Pete’s gone on their track, and maybe we’ll get a chance at them.”
The snow was not particularly deep, and the moose seemed well able to maintain asafe lead. But sooner or later it was certain to be forced into deeper going, and its doom would then be sealed.
They reached a spot where Pete had turned from the main tracks to follow a hound he had wounded. Its blood-stained trail showed plainly by the side of his snowshoe tracks.
They could hear the baying of the pack directly ahead, in the bottom of a wooded valley. Ben said they would follow on the original trail in the hope of catching up with the dogs, should the moose sink in the snow.
The boys’ legs commenced to ache, for they were straining them to the utmost in their endeavors to keep up with Ben. He seemed determined to come in sight of the pack at any cost, and hurried on at a heartbreaking pace.
“Wonder what will happen when we corner them?” inquired Ed, between gasps.
“Don’t know; but I’ll have to stay and see, ’cause I’m too blamed tired to run,” replied George.
“They’ve brought him to a stand!” yelled Ben, excitedly, at the same time quickening his gait. “Hear the way they’re howling and snarling down there! Come on, boys, let’s sail into them!” And the guide went racing down the hillside.
The lads followed as best they could, and took several “headers” in the course of their uncertain journey. They arrived in the ravine breathless and shaky. The snow was very deep, and they saw where the moose had floundered with difficulty through the mound-like drifts. At one place the pack had surrounded him, as could be seen by the tracks; but he had freed himself and staggered to the spot where they now appeared to have him at their mercy.
Then the boys saw Ben raise his rifle. He shot twice.
“Here they are!” he cried. “Look out! They’re going to show fight.”
The lads made their way quickly to his side, and before them saw the moose in snow to its withers. In a circle about it, on top of the light crust, sat twenty or more snapping, wolf-like hounds.
They had turned from their victim, and were boldly facing the hunters. Two of their number lay dead. They had started toward Ben, and met a swift and timely death at his hands. Their fate seemed to restrain the pack, for the moment at least, though the defiant brutes showed no desire to be gone.
“Oh, wait till I get a picture!” begged Ed; and he quickly unstrapped and focused hiscamera. With the click of the shutter things began to happen, and for the next few minutes the boys experienced all the thrills of a Siberian wolf-hunt.
The moose renewed its efforts to extricate itself, and immediately several of the hounds dashed forward to sink their fangs in its throat. Instantly Ben opened fire, at the same time calling on the lads to do likewise.
It was then that the savage, half-wild dogs seemed to realize their danger. As several of them writhed over the snow in their death-struggles the remainder of the band, under the leadership of a great gray animal, rushed at the hunters.
“Watch out; here they come!” warned the guide, firing as fast as he could work the lever of his rifle. “Stand close beside me and fire at the front ones!”
“WATCH OUT; HERE THEY COME!”
“WATCH OUT; HERE THEY COME!”
“WATCH OUT; HERE THEY COME!”
Snarling and snapping, the pack surrounded Ben and the boys. It was no simple task to kill the beasts, for they kept moving about in a circle, and, as the ravine was heavily timbered, the trees constantly interfered with the aim of the shooters. Sneaking and crouching, the dogs began to close in.
“Stand your ground if they try to rush us!” commanded Ben, dropping one of the leaders with a well-placed bullet.
Evidently the hounds had at last determined the sort of enemy confronting them, and, with lips drawn back and fangs exposed, they charged in a body.
The hunters met them with a deadly volley which stretched out several of their number. The gray leader, a big, wolf-like Eskimo dog, escaped the hail of lead and leaped straight at the throat of Ben. The guide had no chance to shoot, but quickly clubbed his rifle and brought the stock down with terrific force on the head of his assailant. The blow felled the creature, and it rolled away behind a massive tree-trunk and slunk off as three hastily aimed bullets whistled harmlessly past its head.
Suddenly Ed uttered a startled cry, and Ben turned quickly in his direction. A powerful hound had crept up behind him, and, leaping, had fastened its fangs in the shoulder of the lad’s heavy hunting-coat and borne him to the ground.
Ben sent a bullet into its body before it could release its grip to fasten a more deadly one on the throat of the startled young hunter.
“Jump up, quick!” yelled the guide.
Encouraged by the apparent success of one of their number, the pack again came on.Once more the fierce gray leader stole forward; but this time a ball from George’s rifle stretched him out dead, shot through his heart.
“Good boy!” shouted Ben. “You’ve got the prize.”
Then another rifle sounded close beside them, and, turning, they saw Indian Pete shooting into the hesitating, disorganized pack of bewildered dogs.
“That’s right, give it to them, Pete; let’s clean them all up at once!” cried Ben, savagely.
Lacking the encouragement of the gray leader, the pack turned and began a slow, sullen retreat. Pete and the guide instantly followed, determined to kill as many of its members as possible, now that they had the longed-for opportunity. But the survivors of the savage band, finding they were pursued, instantly lost confidence and, panic-stricken, dashed away, howling dismally.
When they had disappeared, the hunters took account of the casualties. They found, by adding the ones Pete had killed back on the trail, that they had despatched fourteen of the outlaws, including the leader. This was the big, wolf-like creature Ben had told of, and George was greatly elated at obtaining the chance to kill it.
“Well, we destroyed more than half the pack,” declared Ben, enthusiastically, “and I guess the rest of them will hike for a safer country.”
Meantime they had turned their attention to the moose, and the boys obtained many excellent photographs of it. Free from the attacks of the hounds, it began to force its way through the drift into which it had plunged in its wild panic.
“Can’t we help him any?” asked George.
“No, sir! Stay away from him and keep near me. He’s mad, and there’s no telling what may happen when he frees himself,” cautioned the guide.
When the moose finally emerged from the drift, Pete was the nearer to it. Without hesitating a moment, the excited animal lowered its head and charged the astounded Indian. He jumped nimbly from its path and sought shelter behind the first convenient tree.
Not satisfied to be off, the moose wheeled and came straight at Ben and the boys, who promptly scattered and ran, or tried to, through the deep snow. It missed George by a very narrow margin, and then turned and stood facing them with bristling mane, blazing eyes, and curled lip, ready for anothercharge. The unusual performance had ceased to be a joke, and, fearful that some one would be hurt, Ben fired two shots over its head. They had the effect of bringing the maddened creature to its senses, and with a loud snort it trotted heavily away, unharmed, for at that season these great beasts were protected by law.
“Say, we’ve had some little excitement,” laughed Ben, looking about for a place to sit down.
“I should say so,” agreed Ed, feeling the tear in his coat.
George went over to Indian Pete, who was examining the powerful, grizzled body of the dead leader. The young hunter was much pleased when Pete said he had done well to kill it.
“How many do you think were in the pack?” inquired Ben.
The Indian held up his ten fingers twice, and then five.
“Count them, plenty times,” he said.
“Did you get the one you left the trail for?” asked the guide.
Pete gave one of his customary nods in the affirmative.
“I thought so,” said Ben to the boys. “An Indian usually gets what he starts after.”
Pete soon left to resume the long journey to his cabin. They watched him climb the mountain, expecting that he might look back when he reached the summit. He did not turn, however, but went stolidly on, and disappeared from sight over the top.
“He’s a queer old fellow, but I like him,” said Ed.
“So do I,” declared George.
“He’s all right; a little peculiar, that’s all,” Ben assured them.
George wished the pelt of the Eskimo dog for a trophy, and when Ben started to skin it he had the boys help him. He said it would do them no harm to learn how. The job was quickly accomplished, and the pelt was rolled into a bundle and given to George. He slung it proudly on his back. Then they set out for the cabin, Ben in great spirits over his success in practically wiping out this band of outlaws.
That night they listened in vain for the noise of distant baying. Once they thought they heard it far to the south, but were unable to make sure.
Before they fell asleep, Ed poked George in the ribs and said: “I felt we were going to have trouble with that pack, all along. I’m glad it’s over now.”
“So am I,” replied George. “And to think I’ve actually killed the leader; and in a fight, too!” he added. “I believe they are all more wolf than dog.”
“I’m sure the one that knocked me down was,” said Ed.