[Contents]CHAPTER XXVIIIFIGHTING A WOLFThe storm had not abated, but so well had the hunters built their camp that the snow and the cold had even improved it; for the snow had drifted in around the bottom of the tepee making the shelter much warmer than it would have been without the snow. Some of the snow had partly melted on the spruce thatch, but with the falling temperature it had frozen and thus made the thatch of boughs almost as tight as a roof of shingles; of course some of the fine snow had drifted in, but that had been expected, and the lads scraped it together and threw it out. The outside of their cover blanket was a little damp from snow that had sifted in and melted, and the lads hung up the blankets so that the reflection from the fire and the warm rock would dry them.There was now plenty of time for everything[219]at this camp. Cutting wood, fetching water, cooking, and eating were all the campers had to do besides sleeping and talking. For two days the storm continued and it grew so cold that Bruce spent two hours a day cutting wood for the fire. As long as the fire was kept burning, the camp was very comfortable, but naturally when the fire went out, the camp grew chilly; however, the lads had a feeling that they had miraculously escaped freezing to death, and minor discomforts did not annoy them.On the third morning, the weather had cleared, although it was now colder than ever.“We must start for our lake camp to-day,” Ganawa said, after he had taken a look at the weather. “We must each take some meat with us, but we cannot carry much, because it will be hard travelling.”Travelling was much harder than the lads had anticipated. Their snowshoes were, as Ganawa had said, not of the best, and the going was very tiring, because a crust had[220]begun forming over the surface of the snow, but it would not yet support the weight of a man.They struck straight out for their camp, which was not more than twelve miles southwest of them, but it took them all day to complete the trip, and Ray was so tired that he claimed he could not have walked another mile. They found their home camp not at all inviting, and the five days they had been away seemed like a long time. Much snow had blown into both the tepee and the bark-house; however, after they had cleared out the snow, built a fire in the tepee and saw the smoke come curling out of the top, the camp looked like home again.There was only one thing that disturbed the boys, and Ganawa did not seem to like it, either. On the trip from the hunting camp they had not seen a track or sign of a living thing except a few woodpeckers; but near their home camp they saw many fresh wolf tracks, and one of the beasts had boldly walked up to the bark-house.[221]“The mahungeens are hungry and they smelled our meat in the bark-house,” Ganawa told the boys. “If we had much powder and lead we should kill some of them, so they do not get too bold.”The three hunters were now snowed in for the winter. “We have denned up like the bears,” Bruce told Ray, “and now is your chance to make up rest and sleep.”However, the campers were not idle. Wood had to be cut and carried in, two meals had to be cooked and eaten, and moccasins, clothing, and blankets needed attention. There was very little dishwashing, because the hunters had no dishes outside of a kettle, a frying-pan, and three tin cups. The lads tried fishing, but they had no luck.All the campers made three snowshoe trips after the moose meat. On these occasions they always spent a night at the storm camp, which made a pleasant break in the monotony of their winter life, and robbed the trip of all hardship.[222]On these trips they saw grouse, rabbits, and squirrels, but no big game. The moose had left the country. On the last trip, several wolves followed them almost to the home camp. “We ought to shoot them,” Ganawa said again, “if we had more powder and lead. Hunger is making them bold.”“How often does a wolf eat?” asked Ray.“My son, a wolf does not eat often in winter, when game is scarce, because on many days he cannot catch game. If he can make ten good meals or twelve all winter, he will not starve, but he will be thin. The wolves are hungry. We have seen no tracks of moose or caribou. There are not very many rabbits in the country, and wahboos and his tribe are wise. They know enough to live in the thick brush of swamps, where it is difficult for mahungeen to catch them.”A few days later Bruce had an experience with a wolf which made him sorely regret that he had not heeded Ganawa’s warning[223]never to go away by himself without taking his gun along.Near the spruce swamp, which they passed on their way to the hunting camp, Bruce had seen a number of grouse. The three hunters had really lost all count of the days, but after they had moved into their winter camp they decided to keep one day a week as Sunday. So one Saturday afternoon Bruce started with a bow and some blunt arrows to get a few grouse for their Sunday dinner, for all felt that they would be a welcome treat.About a mile from camp he saw a lone wolf come out on the trail. The beast had heard and smelled Bruce and now he came slowly forward, his teeth flashing and his shaggy hair bristling on his back and shoulder. The brute looked lean and hungry, and Bruce felt his own hair rise on his head. He had never seen a wolf act so bold as this one, and he reached instinctively for his hunting-knife, and found to his horror that he had forgotten to put it back in the sheath[224]after he had cut some birch brush for a new broom.To shoot blunt wooden arrows at the wolf would have been useless, to turn and run for home would mean sure death if the hungry beast followed and attacked him. There was only one thing to do. Fight for his life barehanded. Bruce had done considerable boxing with the boys in Vermont, and now he squared himself for the attack.The wolf made a high leap for the man’s throat, but with the skill of a trained fighter, the man thrust the open jaw upward with his left arm and delivered a heavy blow on the chest of the beast with his right. The blow threw the wolf back but his heavy fur and loose skin protected him from being knocked out. A second time the grim, hungry beast sprang to the attack and again the man parried the open jaw and drove home a blow with his right. This time with so much force that the ugly gray beast reeled and fell on his back. But he was not stunned, and before the man realized that[225]he might have fallen upon the prostrate brute, the wolf was up again and was coming to repeat his attack.However, there had been just enough of a pause to enable the man to form a plan, and when the wolf sprang at him for the third time, he did not merely ward off the gaping jaw, and he did not try to deliver another blow. His mind had hit upon a plan of closing with the fierce hairy monster. He shot out his right hand, seized a firm hold on the skin just behind the wolf’s left jaw, and brought his full weight down on the beast as he fell on top of him in the snow. The man let out a wild yell as for a second he felt the wolf limp under his weight. But he had rejoiced too soon. A wild animal, when cornered, never stops fighting until he is dead or completely overpowered and made helpless. The wolf was fighting again. True, his formidable vise-like jaws he could not use and the man had clenched his powerful hands around the wolf’s throat. It was a battle to the death,[226]with neither wolf nor man as yet the victor. The claws of the wolf are dull tools as compared with the sharp steel-like claws of the panther, but driven by hard, powerful muscles they are no mean weapons. Had not the man been protected by tough buckskin clothing, his skin would have been lacerated and he might have bled to death, holding his savage victim. The man was winning now. The struggles of the gray beast grew less and less violent, then they became like cramps and spasms, and then the long gray body lay still.The man was sweating and bleeding; he still clenched the throat of the wolf as if unconscious of the fact that the animal no longer moved. And then he heard a long-drawn-out howl, the hunting call of the wolf pack. That brought him to. He sprang to his feet. He snatched off a young poplar, brittle with frost, and with it he crushed the skull of the beast, for he was still mad with the fear and rage of the battle.Then he seized the dead beast by the forelegs,[227]flung it over his shoulder and ran for camp. The joy of victory seemed to give him unlimited strength. Half-way down to camp, he heard again the call of the pack. They were nearer now. He turned back and shouted, “Stay back, you dirty brutes!” and ran on.He reached the camp when it was almost dark. “Father, I killed a wolf, I killed him,” he called as he staggered into the tepee. “He is right out there! I killed him, but he pretty near got me.” And then he fell into a dead faint like a runner who has used up his last bit of energy in winning a race.[228]
[Contents]CHAPTER XXVIIIFIGHTING A WOLFThe storm had not abated, but so well had the hunters built their camp that the snow and the cold had even improved it; for the snow had drifted in around the bottom of the tepee making the shelter much warmer than it would have been without the snow. Some of the snow had partly melted on the spruce thatch, but with the falling temperature it had frozen and thus made the thatch of boughs almost as tight as a roof of shingles; of course some of the fine snow had drifted in, but that had been expected, and the lads scraped it together and threw it out. The outside of their cover blanket was a little damp from snow that had sifted in and melted, and the lads hung up the blankets so that the reflection from the fire and the warm rock would dry them.There was now plenty of time for everything[219]at this camp. Cutting wood, fetching water, cooking, and eating were all the campers had to do besides sleeping and talking. For two days the storm continued and it grew so cold that Bruce spent two hours a day cutting wood for the fire. As long as the fire was kept burning, the camp was very comfortable, but naturally when the fire went out, the camp grew chilly; however, the lads had a feeling that they had miraculously escaped freezing to death, and minor discomforts did not annoy them.On the third morning, the weather had cleared, although it was now colder than ever.“We must start for our lake camp to-day,” Ganawa said, after he had taken a look at the weather. “We must each take some meat with us, but we cannot carry much, because it will be hard travelling.”Travelling was much harder than the lads had anticipated. Their snowshoes were, as Ganawa had said, not of the best, and the going was very tiring, because a crust had[220]begun forming over the surface of the snow, but it would not yet support the weight of a man.They struck straight out for their camp, which was not more than twelve miles southwest of them, but it took them all day to complete the trip, and Ray was so tired that he claimed he could not have walked another mile. They found their home camp not at all inviting, and the five days they had been away seemed like a long time. Much snow had blown into both the tepee and the bark-house; however, after they had cleared out the snow, built a fire in the tepee and saw the smoke come curling out of the top, the camp looked like home again.There was only one thing that disturbed the boys, and Ganawa did not seem to like it, either. On the trip from the hunting camp they had not seen a track or sign of a living thing except a few woodpeckers; but near their home camp they saw many fresh wolf tracks, and one of the beasts had boldly walked up to the bark-house.[221]“The mahungeens are hungry and they smelled our meat in the bark-house,” Ganawa told the boys. “If we had much powder and lead we should kill some of them, so they do not get too bold.”The three hunters were now snowed in for the winter. “We have denned up like the bears,” Bruce told Ray, “and now is your chance to make up rest and sleep.”However, the campers were not idle. Wood had to be cut and carried in, two meals had to be cooked and eaten, and moccasins, clothing, and blankets needed attention. There was very little dishwashing, because the hunters had no dishes outside of a kettle, a frying-pan, and three tin cups. The lads tried fishing, but they had no luck.All the campers made three snowshoe trips after the moose meat. On these occasions they always spent a night at the storm camp, which made a pleasant break in the monotony of their winter life, and robbed the trip of all hardship.[222]On these trips they saw grouse, rabbits, and squirrels, but no big game. The moose had left the country. On the last trip, several wolves followed them almost to the home camp. “We ought to shoot them,” Ganawa said again, “if we had more powder and lead. Hunger is making them bold.”“How often does a wolf eat?” asked Ray.“My son, a wolf does not eat often in winter, when game is scarce, because on many days he cannot catch game. If he can make ten good meals or twelve all winter, he will not starve, but he will be thin. The wolves are hungry. We have seen no tracks of moose or caribou. There are not very many rabbits in the country, and wahboos and his tribe are wise. They know enough to live in the thick brush of swamps, where it is difficult for mahungeen to catch them.”A few days later Bruce had an experience with a wolf which made him sorely regret that he had not heeded Ganawa’s warning[223]never to go away by himself without taking his gun along.Near the spruce swamp, which they passed on their way to the hunting camp, Bruce had seen a number of grouse. The three hunters had really lost all count of the days, but after they had moved into their winter camp they decided to keep one day a week as Sunday. So one Saturday afternoon Bruce started with a bow and some blunt arrows to get a few grouse for their Sunday dinner, for all felt that they would be a welcome treat.About a mile from camp he saw a lone wolf come out on the trail. The beast had heard and smelled Bruce and now he came slowly forward, his teeth flashing and his shaggy hair bristling on his back and shoulder. The brute looked lean and hungry, and Bruce felt his own hair rise on his head. He had never seen a wolf act so bold as this one, and he reached instinctively for his hunting-knife, and found to his horror that he had forgotten to put it back in the sheath[224]after he had cut some birch brush for a new broom.To shoot blunt wooden arrows at the wolf would have been useless, to turn and run for home would mean sure death if the hungry beast followed and attacked him. There was only one thing to do. Fight for his life barehanded. Bruce had done considerable boxing with the boys in Vermont, and now he squared himself for the attack.The wolf made a high leap for the man’s throat, but with the skill of a trained fighter, the man thrust the open jaw upward with his left arm and delivered a heavy blow on the chest of the beast with his right. The blow threw the wolf back but his heavy fur and loose skin protected him from being knocked out. A second time the grim, hungry beast sprang to the attack and again the man parried the open jaw and drove home a blow with his right. This time with so much force that the ugly gray beast reeled and fell on his back. But he was not stunned, and before the man realized that[225]he might have fallen upon the prostrate brute, the wolf was up again and was coming to repeat his attack.However, there had been just enough of a pause to enable the man to form a plan, and when the wolf sprang at him for the third time, he did not merely ward off the gaping jaw, and he did not try to deliver another blow. His mind had hit upon a plan of closing with the fierce hairy monster. He shot out his right hand, seized a firm hold on the skin just behind the wolf’s left jaw, and brought his full weight down on the beast as he fell on top of him in the snow. The man let out a wild yell as for a second he felt the wolf limp under his weight. But he had rejoiced too soon. A wild animal, when cornered, never stops fighting until he is dead or completely overpowered and made helpless. The wolf was fighting again. True, his formidable vise-like jaws he could not use and the man had clenched his powerful hands around the wolf’s throat. It was a battle to the death,[226]with neither wolf nor man as yet the victor. The claws of the wolf are dull tools as compared with the sharp steel-like claws of the panther, but driven by hard, powerful muscles they are no mean weapons. Had not the man been protected by tough buckskin clothing, his skin would have been lacerated and he might have bled to death, holding his savage victim. The man was winning now. The struggles of the gray beast grew less and less violent, then they became like cramps and spasms, and then the long gray body lay still.The man was sweating and bleeding; he still clenched the throat of the wolf as if unconscious of the fact that the animal no longer moved. And then he heard a long-drawn-out howl, the hunting call of the wolf pack. That brought him to. He sprang to his feet. He snatched off a young poplar, brittle with frost, and with it he crushed the skull of the beast, for he was still mad with the fear and rage of the battle.Then he seized the dead beast by the forelegs,[227]flung it over his shoulder and ran for camp. The joy of victory seemed to give him unlimited strength. Half-way down to camp, he heard again the call of the pack. They were nearer now. He turned back and shouted, “Stay back, you dirty brutes!” and ran on.He reached the camp when it was almost dark. “Father, I killed a wolf, I killed him,” he called as he staggered into the tepee. “He is right out there! I killed him, but he pretty near got me.” And then he fell into a dead faint like a runner who has used up his last bit of energy in winning a race.[228]
CHAPTER XXVIIIFIGHTING A WOLF
The storm had not abated, but so well had the hunters built their camp that the snow and the cold had even improved it; for the snow had drifted in around the bottom of the tepee making the shelter much warmer than it would have been without the snow. Some of the snow had partly melted on the spruce thatch, but with the falling temperature it had frozen and thus made the thatch of boughs almost as tight as a roof of shingles; of course some of the fine snow had drifted in, but that had been expected, and the lads scraped it together and threw it out. The outside of their cover blanket was a little damp from snow that had sifted in and melted, and the lads hung up the blankets so that the reflection from the fire and the warm rock would dry them.There was now plenty of time for everything[219]at this camp. Cutting wood, fetching water, cooking, and eating were all the campers had to do besides sleeping and talking. For two days the storm continued and it grew so cold that Bruce spent two hours a day cutting wood for the fire. As long as the fire was kept burning, the camp was very comfortable, but naturally when the fire went out, the camp grew chilly; however, the lads had a feeling that they had miraculously escaped freezing to death, and minor discomforts did not annoy them.On the third morning, the weather had cleared, although it was now colder than ever.“We must start for our lake camp to-day,” Ganawa said, after he had taken a look at the weather. “We must each take some meat with us, but we cannot carry much, because it will be hard travelling.”Travelling was much harder than the lads had anticipated. Their snowshoes were, as Ganawa had said, not of the best, and the going was very tiring, because a crust had[220]begun forming over the surface of the snow, but it would not yet support the weight of a man.They struck straight out for their camp, which was not more than twelve miles southwest of them, but it took them all day to complete the trip, and Ray was so tired that he claimed he could not have walked another mile. They found their home camp not at all inviting, and the five days they had been away seemed like a long time. Much snow had blown into both the tepee and the bark-house; however, after they had cleared out the snow, built a fire in the tepee and saw the smoke come curling out of the top, the camp looked like home again.There was only one thing that disturbed the boys, and Ganawa did not seem to like it, either. On the trip from the hunting camp they had not seen a track or sign of a living thing except a few woodpeckers; but near their home camp they saw many fresh wolf tracks, and one of the beasts had boldly walked up to the bark-house.[221]“The mahungeens are hungry and they smelled our meat in the bark-house,” Ganawa told the boys. “If we had much powder and lead we should kill some of them, so they do not get too bold.”The three hunters were now snowed in for the winter. “We have denned up like the bears,” Bruce told Ray, “and now is your chance to make up rest and sleep.”However, the campers were not idle. Wood had to be cut and carried in, two meals had to be cooked and eaten, and moccasins, clothing, and blankets needed attention. There was very little dishwashing, because the hunters had no dishes outside of a kettle, a frying-pan, and three tin cups. The lads tried fishing, but they had no luck.All the campers made three snowshoe trips after the moose meat. On these occasions they always spent a night at the storm camp, which made a pleasant break in the monotony of their winter life, and robbed the trip of all hardship.[222]On these trips they saw grouse, rabbits, and squirrels, but no big game. The moose had left the country. On the last trip, several wolves followed them almost to the home camp. “We ought to shoot them,” Ganawa said again, “if we had more powder and lead. Hunger is making them bold.”“How often does a wolf eat?” asked Ray.“My son, a wolf does not eat often in winter, when game is scarce, because on many days he cannot catch game. If he can make ten good meals or twelve all winter, he will not starve, but he will be thin. The wolves are hungry. We have seen no tracks of moose or caribou. There are not very many rabbits in the country, and wahboos and his tribe are wise. They know enough to live in the thick brush of swamps, where it is difficult for mahungeen to catch them.”A few days later Bruce had an experience with a wolf which made him sorely regret that he had not heeded Ganawa’s warning[223]never to go away by himself without taking his gun along.Near the spruce swamp, which they passed on their way to the hunting camp, Bruce had seen a number of grouse. The three hunters had really lost all count of the days, but after they had moved into their winter camp they decided to keep one day a week as Sunday. So one Saturday afternoon Bruce started with a bow and some blunt arrows to get a few grouse for their Sunday dinner, for all felt that they would be a welcome treat.About a mile from camp he saw a lone wolf come out on the trail. The beast had heard and smelled Bruce and now he came slowly forward, his teeth flashing and his shaggy hair bristling on his back and shoulder. The brute looked lean and hungry, and Bruce felt his own hair rise on his head. He had never seen a wolf act so bold as this one, and he reached instinctively for his hunting-knife, and found to his horror that he had forgotten to put it back in the sheath[224]after he had cut some birch brush for a new broom.To shoot blunt wooden arrows at the wolf would have been useless, to turn and run for home would mean sure death if the hungry beast followed and attacked him. There was only one thing to do. Fight for his life barehanded. Bruce had done considerable boxing with the boys in Vermont, and now he squared himself for the attack.The wolf made a high leap for the man’s throat, but with the skill of a trained fighter, the man thrust the open jaw upward with his left arm and delivered a heavy blow on the chest of the beast with his right. The blow threw the wolf back but his heavy fur and loose skin protected him from being knocked out. A second time the grim, hungry beast sprang to the attack and again the man parried the open jaw and drove home a blow with his right. This time with so much force that the ugly gray beast reeled and fell on his back. But he was not stunned, and before the man realized that[225]he might have fallen upon the prostrate brute, the wolf was up again and was coming to repeat his attack.However, there had been just enough of a pause to enable the man to form a plan, and when the wolf sprang at him for the third time, he did not merely ward off the gaping jaw, and he did not try to deliver another blow. His mind had hit upon a plan of closing with the fierce hairy monster. He shot out his right hand, seized a firm hold on the skin just behind the wolf’s left jaw, and brought his full weight down on the beast as he fell on top of him in the snow. The man let out a wild yell as for a second he felt the wolf limp under his weight. But he had rejoiced too soon. A wild animal, when cornered, never stops fighting until he is dead or completely overpowered and made helpless. The wolf was fighting again. True, his formidable vise-like jaws he could not use and the man had clenched his powerful hands around the wolf’s throat. It was a battle to the death,[226]with neither wolf nor man as yet the victor. The claws of the wolf are dull tools as compared with the sharp steel-like claws of the panther, but driven by hard, powerful muscles they are no mean weapons. Had not the man been protected by tough buckskin clothing, his skin would have been lacerated and he might have bled to death, holding his savage victim. The man was winning now. The struggles of the gray beast grew less and less violent, then they became like cramps and spasms, and then the long gray body lay still.The man was sweating and bleeding; he still clenched the throat of the wolf as if unconscious of the fact that the animal no longer moved. And then he heard a long-drawn-out howl, the hunting call of the wolf pack. That brought him to. He sprang to his feet. He snatched off a young poplar, brittle with frost, and with it he crushed the skull of the beast, for he was still mad with the fear and rage of the battle.Then he seized the dead beast by the forelegs,[227]flung it over his shoulder and ran for camp. The joy of victory seemed to give him unlimited strength. Half-way down to camp, he heard again the call of the pack. They were nearer now. He turned back and shouted, “Stay back, you dirty brutes!” and ran on.He reached the camp when it was almost dark. “Father, I killed a wolf, I killed him,” he called as he staggered into the tepee. “He is right out there! I killed him, but he pretty near got me.” And then he fell into a dead faint like a runner who has used up his last bit of energy in winning a race.[228]
The storm had not abated, but so well had the hunters built their camp that the snow and the cold had even improved it; for the snow had drifted in around the bottom of the tepee making the shelter much warmer than it would have been without the snow. Some of the snow had partly melted on the spruce thatch, but with the falling temperature it had frozen and thus made the thatch of boughs almost as tight as a roof of shingles; of course some of the fine snow had drifted in, but that had been expected, and the lads scraped it together and threw it out. The outside of their cover blanket was a little damp from snow that had sifted in and melted, and the lads hung up the blankets so that the reflection from the fire and the warm rock would dry them.
There was now plenty of time for everything[219]at this camp. Cutting wood, fetching water, cooking, and eating were all the campers had to do besides sleeping and talking. For two days the storm continued and it grew so cold that Bruce spent two hours a day cutting wood for the fire. As long as the fire was kept burning, the camp was very comfortable, but naturally when the fire went out, the camp grew chilly; however, the lads had a feeling that they had miraculously escaped freezing to death, and minor discomforts did not annoy them.
On the third morning, the weather had cleared, although it was now colder than ever.
“We must start for our lake camp to-day,” Ganawa said, after he had taken a look at the weather. “We must each take some meat with us, but we cannot carry much, because it will be hard travelling.”
Travelling was much harder than the lads had anticipated. Their snowshoes were, as Ganawa had said, not of the best, and the going was very tiring, because a crust had[220]begun forming over the surface of the snow, but it would not yet support the weight of a man.
They struck straight out for their camp, which was not more than twelve miles southwest of them, but it took them all day to complete the trip, and Ray was so tired that he claimed he could not have walked another mile. They found their home camp not at all inviting, and the five days they had been away seemed like a long time. Much snow had blown into both the tepee and the bark-house; however, after they had cleared out the snow, built a fire in the tepee and saw the smoke come curling out of the top, the camp looked like home again.
There was only one thing that disturbed the boys, and Ganawa did not seem to like it, either. On the trip from the hunting camp they had not seen a track or sign of a living thing except a few woodpeckers; but near their home camp they saw many fresh wolf tracks, and one of the beasts had boldly walked up to the bark-house.[221]
“The mahungeens are hungry and they smelled our meat in the bark-house,” Ganawa told the boys. “If we had much powder and lead we should kill some of them, so they do not get too bold.”
The three hunters were now snowed in for the winter. “We have denned up like the bears,” Bruce told Ray, “and now is your chance to make up rest and sleep.”
However, the campers were not idle. Wood had to be cut and carried in, two meals had to be cooked and eaten, and moccasins, clothing, and blankets needed attention. There was very little dishwashing, because the hunters had no dishes outside of a kettle, a frying-pan, and three tin cups. The lads tried fishing, but they had no luck.
All the campers made three snowshoe trips after the moose meat. On these occasions they always spent a night at the storm camp, which made a pleasant break in the monotony of their winter life, and robbed the trip of all hardship.[222]
On these trips they saw grouse, rabbits, and squirrels, but no big game. The moose had left the country. On the last trip, several wolves followed them almost to the home camp. “We ought to shoot them,” Ganawa said again, “if we had more powder and lead. Hunger is making them bold.”
“How often does a wolf eat?” asked Ray.
“My son, a wolf does not eat often in winter, when game is scarce, because on many days he cannot catch game. If he can make ten good meals or twelve all winter, he will not starve, but he will be thin. The wolves are hungry. We have seen no tracks of moose or caribou. There are not very many rabbits in the country, and wahboos and his tribe are wise. They know enough to live in the thick brush of swamps, where it is difficult for mahungeen to catch them.”
A few days later Bruce had an experience with a wolf which made him sorely regret that he had not heeded Ganawa’s warning[223]never to go away by himself without taking his gun along.
Near the spruce swamp, which they passed on their way to the hunting camp, Bruce had seen a number of grouse. The three hunters had really lost all count of the days, but after they had moved into their winter camp they decided to keep one day a week as Sunday. So one Saturday afternoon Bruce started with a bow and some blunt arrows to get a few grouse for their Sunday dinner, for all felt that they would be a welcome treat.
About a mile from camp he saw a lone wolf come out on the trail. The beast had heard and smelled Bruce and now he came slowly forward, his teeth flashing and his shaggy hair bristling on his back and shoulder. The brute looked lean and hungry, and Bruce felt his own hair rise on his head. He had never seen a wolf act so bold as this one, and he reached instinctively for his hunting-knife, and found to his horror that he had forgotten to put it back in the sheath[224]after he had cut some birch brush for a new broom.
To shoot blunt wooden arrows at the wolf would have been useless, to turn and run for home would mean sure death if the hungry beast followed and attacked him. There was only one thing to do. Fight for his life barehanded. Bruce had done considerable boxing with the boys in Vermont, and now he squared himself for the attack.
The wolf made a high leap for the man’s throat, but with the skill of a trained fighter, the man thrust the open jaw upward with his left arm and delivered a heavy blow on the chest of the beast with his right. The blow threw the wolf back but his heavy fur and loose skin protected him from being knocked out. A second time the grim, hungry beast sprang to the attack and again the man parried the open jaw and drove home a blow with his right. This time with so much force that the ugly gray beast reeled and fell on his back. But he was not stunned, and before the man realized that[225]he might have fallen upon the prostrate brute, the wolf was up again and was coming to repeat his attack.
However, there had been just enough of a pause to enable the man to form a plan, and when the wolf sprang at him for the third time, he did not merely ward off the gaping jaw, and he did not try to deliver another blow. His mind had hit upon a plan of closing with the fierce hairy monster. He shot out his right hand, seized a firm hold on the skin just behind the wolf’s left jaw, and brought his full weight down on the beast as he fell on top of him in the snow. The man let out a wild yell as for a second he felt the wolf limp under his weight. But he had rejoiced too soon. A wild animal, when cornered, never stops fighting until he is dead or completely overpowered and made helpless. The wolf was fighting again. True, his formidable vise-like jaws he could not use and the man had clenched his powerful hands around the wolf’s throat. It was a battle to the death,[226]with neither wolf nor man as yet the victor. The claws of the wolf are dull tools as compared with the sharp steel-like claws of the panther, but driven by hard, powerful muscles they are no mean weapons. Had not the man been protected by tough buckskin clothing, his skin would have been lacerated and he might have bled to death, holding his savage victim. The man was winning now. The struggles of the gray beast grew less and less violent, then they became like cramps and spasms, and then the long gray body lay still.
The man was sweating and bleeding; he still clenched the throat of the wolf as if unconscious of the fact that the animal no longer moved. And then he heard a long-drawn-out howl, the hunting call of the wolf pack. That brought him to. He sprang to his feet. He snatched off a young poplar, brittle with frost, and with it he crushed the skull of the beast, for he was still mad with the fear and rage of the battle.
Then he seized the dead beast by the forelegs,[227]flung it over his shoulder and ran for camp. The joy of victory seemed to give him unlimited strength. Half-way down to camp, he heard again the call of the pack. They were nearer now. He turned back and shouted, “Stay back, you dirty brutes!” and ran on.
He reached the camp when it was almost dark. “Father, I killed a wolf, I killed him,” he called as he staggered into the tepee. “He is right out there! I killed him, but he pretty near got me.” And then he fell into a dead faint like a runner who has used up his last bit of energy in winning a race.[228]