CHAPTER X
Noon found them more than halfway on their journey. The pull up one of the hills had been a tough one and the horses were perfectly content to rest in the shelter of a clump of trees and munch up the oats brought along for them.
Finding another sheltered nook the two young lumbermen chopped down some brushwood and a few dry branches and soon had a roaring fire started. Over this they made themselves a pot of coffee and warmed up some of the eating brought along. It was a good meal and thoroughly enjoyed.
"What fun a fellow could have on a hunting trip for a week or two!" observed Dale. "I saw half a dozen partridges on the road and some tracks that looked like those of a deer."
"Yes, indeed, Dale. But we have got to attend to work, or our savings account won't be near as large as you want it when we reckon up in the spring." Owen said this dryly, for saving was still a sore subject with him, although for every dollar put in the box by his chum he faithfully placed another beside it.
They had brought a gun along, and kept their eyes open for the possible appearance of some big game—not wishing to waste their limited ammunition on anything small. But nothing larger than a fox appeared, and this animal lost no time in seeking cover as soon as discovered by Owen.
The end of the trip was down into a broad valley bordering a long, narrow lake. Here the road was narrow and uneven and more than once they had all they could do to keep the turnout from going over and spilling them and the contents into the snow.
"I'll get out and make sure of the path," said Owen at last, and went on ahead, with a long, sharp stick, which he stuck into the snow at every place that looked doubtful. Thus they avoided more than one dangerous hollow and reached ground as safe as it was level.
The coming of the two young lumbermen was something of an event in the Gannett camp, and those who were looking for letters crowded around eagerly. Gannett himself, a tall, thin logger, all of six feet four inches in height, greeted them cordially as he gave the hand of each a tight squeeze.
"Deownright glad to see ye," he drawled. "Guess ye had a kind of bumpin' ride a-gittin' over, didn't ye?"
"It wasn't as smooth as it might be," answered Owen.
"Well, hardly. I hain't forgot the last time I druv over, not by er jugful! Got spilt out twict, an' the second time I went into er holler headfust, clar to my boots! Ye done uncommon well not to spill over."
"The road at our end is good enough; it's your end that needs looking after," put in Dale, and told how Owen had got out and walked.
"Yes, I know the road is putty bad in my camp," said Philander Gannett. "But, ye see, I hain't calkerlatin' ter stay here another season. I'm going to t'other end o' the lake. The timber here aint fit fer telegraph poles, much less boards,—an' I aint a-workin' fer them pulp mills an' a-spilin' my timber a-doin' of it."
The camp, in many respects, was similar to that run by Luke Paxton, so there was nothing of novelty to interest the two young lumbermen. Yet, after the team was cared for, they took a look around the various buildings and around the yard at the lake front. At supper time they ate with Philander Gannett and several of his foremen.
"How long have you been cutting in this neighborhood?" asked Owen, during the meal.
"This aint but the second season," was Gannett's reply. "Ye see, I bought this tract from a Boston man, named Jefferson Wilbur—him as owns thet fancy lodge over to Pine Tree Lake. Wilbur used to run two camps up here in Maine, but he got sick o' it, an' now I understand he's a-puttin' his money in timber lands in the Far West, Oregon and Washington."
"Oregon!" repeated Dale, and his mind went back to the mining venture in Oregon, in which his father had invested so much money.
"Exactly. He says thet place is the only one to get rich in, an' I reckon he's right—leas'wise, I don't think I'm a-goin' to git rich here."
"What part of Oregon is his lumber claim located in?"
"His money is in a company thet has miles and miles o' timber land along the big rivers. He told me the names, but I've forgotten 'em."
"I've seen his lodge on Pine Tree Lake," said Owen. "It's a handsome place and must have cost a neat sum to build."
"Twenty-five thousand dollars, so he told me. An' him an' his family aint there more'n two months out of twelve. Does beat all how some folks kin throw away money," concluded Philander Gannett, with a sigh.
"I wish I could meet this Jefferson Wilbur," said Dale to Owen, when they were retiring to the bunk to which they had been assigned. "I'd like to ask him if he knows anything about that mine my father lost his money in."
"Most likely he doesn't, Dale. Oregon is a big State, and the lumber people don't come much in contact with the miners, I guess. And, besides, this Wilbur is a Boston man, not a Westerner."
The business that had brought Dale and Owen to the camp had been concluded before retiring, so there was nothing to keep the young lumbermen from starting on the return as soon as they arose on the morning following. They were given a hearty breakfast of pancakes, fried potatoes, salt fish, and coffee, and another lunch was stowed away in the basket they carried. Then came some letters for those at the Paxton camp, and away they went, with a crack of the whip, and a dozen men giving them a parting wave of the hand as they disappeared among the trees.
The day was not as clear as they had anticipated. The sun was hidden by a number of dark clouds, and there was a damp feeling in the air, as of snow.
"We'll be lucky if we get back before the storm lets down on us," observed Owen, with an anxious look at the sky. "And I shouldn't be surprised if the storm proved a heavy one."
"Well, the team ought to make as good time getting back as they did in coming, Owen. And we needn't stop so long for dinner as we did yesterday."
Dale walked ahead this time, and soon what they considered the most dangerous part of the road was passed. Then Dale hopped in beside his chum, and away they went, at the best speed the team could command.
It lacked still an hour of noon when the first flakes of the coming storm fell upon them. They were large flakes, and floated down as lightly as so many feathers. Then they grew thicker and thicker, until the landscape on all sides was obscured by them.
"We are going to have our hands full keeping to the road now," said Owen, shading his eyes with his palm. "I must say I can't see much."
"The horses ought to know their own tracks."
"That is true."
Fifteen minutes went by, and the snow kept growing thicker and thicker. Owen was on the point of pulling up, when of a sudden one of the horses gave a snort and reared up violently.
The act was so unexpected that Dale and Owen were completely astonished. Both clutched the lines and held on while the sleigh began to go backwards in a semicircle.
"Whoa, Billy!" roared Owen. "Whoa! What in the world is the matter with you?"
"A bear!" cried Dale, and stared ahead. He was right; a bear had appeared in the road, directly in front of the team. Now the second horse began to rear and snort, and the sleigh moved back faster than ever.
"A bear!" cried Dale.
"A bear!" cried Dale.
"A bear!" cried Dale.
"Get the gun!" cried Owen. "I'll hold the lines!"
The weapon was behind the seat, under a patch of oilskin cloth, and it took Dale several seconds to secure it. By that time the bear had crossed the road, and they could hear the beast crashing along in the timber beyond.
"Where is he?"
"Gone, over there!" Owen gripped the lines tighter than ever. "Whoa, Billy! Whoa, Daisy! Whoa, I tell you, or we'll have a smash-up sure. Whoa!"
But the team was thoroughly scared, and continued to snort and plunge. Snap! went one strap and then another, and a sharp crack told that one of the runners of the sleigh was broken likewise.
The young lumbermen had been rounding a bend of the hill trail. Just ahead the road was level enough, but to the rear it sloped away to a hollow, filled with scrub pine, brushwood, and drifted snow. Owen was afraid that they would go into this hollow, and they did, with a suddenness that left them no time in which to leap to a point of safety.
Down went the sleigh, turning completely over and burying Dale and Owen beneath it. The horses came down too, and began to flounder at a furious rate in the snow and the bushes.
It looked as if both Dale and Owen might be killed as the result of the accident, but the soft snow at the bottom of the hollow saved them from all harm but a few scratches. Both sank between two rather stout bushes, while the sleigh landed on the top of the undergrowth and stuck there, just over their heads. Then the horses, by some miraculous means, gained their feet once more, and dashed down the remainder of the slope, until a line of scrub pines barred their further progress. Here they stood still, panting, but evidently satisfied that their present danger was over.
"Dale!" It was nearly a minute later when Owen crawled forth and freed his mouth from snow sufficiently to speak. "Dale, are you alive?"
"I—I guess I am—I don't know for sure," was the spluttered-out answer. "What a tumble that was!"
"There are the horses, down by the trees. I'm glad they didn't run any farther."
"The sleigh is a wreck!" said Dale, gazing sorrowfully at the upturned outfit. Then he looked at the gun which was still in his grasp. "It's lucky this didn't go off and hit one of us. Where is that bear?"
Both gazed around, but the beast was not in sight. Then they looked at the wrecked sleigh, at the horses, and then at each other.
"We're in a pickle, Owen!"
"It's a pretty snowy one, Dale. See what you can do with this sleigh, while I go and secure those horses. If they get away we shall be in a fix."
Securing the animals was easy, and a few gentle words soon quieted them down. Then Owen tied them fast and returned to where he had left Dale.
On examination they found that one of the runners of the sleigh was cracked, but not broken completely off, and around the cracked portion they wound some stout cord, making it almost as strong as before. Then they turned the outfit right side up and searched about for the load, which had been spilled in all directions.
"It's snowing harder than ever," said Dale. "And some of the things I can't see anywhere."
"I've got to mend that harness," came from his chum.
Owen went down to patch up the broken straps, while Dale continued to hunt for the missing things. As the younger of the two had said, the storm was increasing, and both felt that the troubles of the trip were by no means at an end.