A Boy of the Dominion Part 23

"It aer like this," smiled Hank. "Beaver Jack don't never come far into the settlements, and his line ain't never due north. Reckon he ain't fond of coming across other Injuns that way, nor the half-breeds that live up towards James Bay. So his line's always to the west.

Ours being north, and cutting up through the country Beaver Jack crosses, why, in course we was bound to drop across his tracks. Had sport this season, Jack?"

The Indian turned slowly upon his questioner and straightened himself, for he had been bending over the narrow sledge upon which he was wont to haul his pelts when their number became too burdensome for carrying.

The failing light of a midwinter day fell upon a scarred and seamed face that might have belonged to a man of sixty, of seventy, or even of eighty. The brows were drawn down over the eyes, the hooked nose approached closely to the thin, closely-shut lips, while even the chin, square and determined, and yet narrower than is customary with white men, appeared to turn up towards the centre of the face. But the eyes were the feature that attracted one. Small, and set wide apart, they flashed round at Hank and then at Joe. At one moment they looked severe, fierce, almost cruel; the next moment one could have sworn that they were twinkling. As for the remainder of this native trapper, he was clad in skin clothing of his own making. Fringed leggings covered his lanky lower limbs, while a shirt of leather, soft and wonderfully pliable and stained with much exposure, was over his shoulders, wide open at the neck, the sleeves reaching only down to his elbows. The man pointed slowly to his pile of pelts, and then, as if to speak would be to waste words, bent down over his sledge again and went on with the work that engaged his attention.

"He aer a rare 'un to talk," laughed Hank. "You get almost tired of hearin' his voice. But he kin hunt, and he aer the best man as ever I came across for calling up the moose. Know what that means, Joe?"

"Haven't an idea," answered our hero; for even now he was ignorant of the ways of hunters.

"Then we'll teach you, me and Jack," said Hank. "Jack, have you seen moose tracks hereabouts? If there's some of the beasts within twenty mile, you ain't likely to have missed them."

The mention of something to do with hunting brought the Indian to an erect position again with remarkable swiftness. He lifted an arm and pointed away to the west, to where the snow-clad landscape reared itself abruptly till, rising to a great height, it cut across the darkening sky in a succession of jagged peaks, upon which the rays of the fallen sun flickered, though the orb itself had long since disappeared from sight.

"Moose yard up there," he said abruptly; "plenty beast."

"Then to-morrow we'll see what we kin do with 'em," cried Hank. "We kin leave our traps 'way down here in this camp, and jest take our rifles with us. We ain't likely to be back before the night comes, and ef we're still out on the hills, why, in course we'll make a camp that'll keep us warm and right till the dawn comes. Now, lad, on with that kettle; it aer time almost for supper."

Joe's experience of moose hunting had not been so great up to this moment that he was not keen on a hunt. Once only, in fact, had he encountered this huge, fierce beast of the Canadian forests, and then the moose bull may be said to have hunted him. It was, therefore, with a certain amount of elation and excitement that he set off with his comrades on the following morning. Leaving their pelts behind in the lean-to--for Joe and Hank had trapped and shot many beasts during the last two weeks--and taking only rifles and ammunition and ready-cooked food with them--the three turned their faces towards the west, where the land reared itself up suddenly into a long chain of hills which might almost be described as mountains. Trudging along in front went Beaver Jack, as silent as ever, his face always to the front, never turning his head by so much as an inch, and yet seeing and remembering every feature of his surroundings. Joe noted the long swing of his lanky legs, the sliding stride with which he carried his snowshoes from one part to another, and the manner in which he kicked his shoes from time to time. Then came Hank, keen and energetic, his rifle across his shoulder, his shoes sinking hardly at all into the snow. However, Joe found walking on this occasion somewhat difficult, for the pace the Indian set was terrific, while a mild-tempered wind had softened the snow which clung to his shoes, making them ponderously heavy.

"Steady!" called Hank, after a while, arresting the rapid progress of the Indian. "This here pal of mine are puffin' and blowin'. Yer see, Joe, you ain't so used to snowshoein' as Jack and me, and when there's a thaw it aer heavy work. But jest you watch Beaver Jack. He gives a sorter kick every few steps, and so rids himself of the weight that you have to carry. We'll rest here a few minutes, and then you kin go in front and so set the pace."

An hour later they began to ascend a little, while within less than two hours the path they were making took them upward at a somewhat abrupt angle, which made the work extremely heavy. It was a relief to Joe, therefore, when Hank called another halt, and when Beaver Jack pointed away along the side of the mountain.

"We ain't likely to find moose much higher," said Hank, seating himself beside Joe; "not because it aer too cold for 'em high up, but because the stuff they feed on don't grow up there. Seems to me that we've a biggish wood in front of us, and we've got to make right through it before we shall come across their tracks. Even then there mayn't be any of the beasts, for ef they happen to have caught sight of us, or winded us, which aer far more likely, why, the hull crowd will have gone right off. You could shoot a charging moose, lad?"

"I'd try, anyway," answered Joe, mindful of his previous effort. "I think that by now I ought to be able to hold a gun straight, and if only I don't get too excited I ought to be able to hit a beast. I'm ready to move on if you are."

Once more they began their trudge across the sloping snowfield, Hank now leading, and presently he plunged into a forest clinging to the hillside. A wide s.p.a.ce beyond was devoid of animal life, though Beaver Jack declared that moose had recently been across it. Then they dived into a narrow belt of trees, where the Indian came to a sudden halt.

"Try here," he said. "Not sure, but think beasts near; and if we go on, sure to hear us. Wait little--soon ready."

"Watch him," whispered Hank; "you'll see him set to work as only an Indian can. He's looking about for a birch tree, and with that knife of his will strip the bark in a matter of a few minutes. I kin tell you this, give a Redskin a knife and firelock and powder, and he kin go anywhere and make most anything in these forests. Birch bark aer the stuff he puts to roof his lean-to. A long strip cut from an extry big tree, and shaped and sewn, makes him a canoe that's better than any other craft known on any water; while, ef it's pots and kettles that's wanted fer cookin', he can fix the business easy with his knife, and so long as there's a tree of the right sort about. See him cut that roll free. Now, in a jiffy he'll have a trumpet."

Beaver Jack went about his work in a manner which showed that he was accustomed to it, and came back towards his comrades bearing a long strip of bark which he was slowly coaxing into the shape of a funnel.

Then with his knife and a few strips of hide cut from the fringes of his leggings he tied the edges of the bark, so that the implement he had fashioned retained its shape. A little later he bent his lanky form, applied the smaller end of the funnel to his mouth, and blew heavily into it. The lines across forehead and face became even deeper. To look at the Indian one would have declared that he was in agony, and no doubt he was making a special effort. The result was truly wonderful. Joe had heard moose calling before, the sounds they made echoing through the forest. And here the calls were repeated, more loudly, it is true, since they were meant to pa.s.s to a distance, but wonderfully realistic and lifelike.

"Now listen," said Hank, in a whisper. "Ef there's a moose bull within two mile of this he'll answer."

The long, deep-toned call produced by Beaver Jack with the aid of his birch-bark trumpet was answered by a deadly silence that nothing broke, and though the call was repeated, it appeared as if the result was to be similar. But suddenly the Indian stirred, while Joe saw Hank's eyes concentrate themselves upon the forest. Then, far off, there came a dismal echo of the sound, as if the hillside were casting it back at the hunters. At once, without so much as a word, the Redskin slunk off into the forest, Hank and Joe following closely.

"You kin look for a burst of speed," whispered Hank hurriedly, turning his head. "There's a moose bull 'way ahead, and Beaver Jack aer going nearer so as to coax him. Jest make sure as you don't knock that rifle against the trees, or else there won't be much huntin'."

Silent after that, with hardly a glance to left or to right, the three pushed on through the wood, Beaver Jack choosing, as if by instinct, a path that avoided thick underwood, and allowed himself and his comrades to retain their snowshoes. Slowly the trees diminished in number, till they straggled out into the open in broken groups of two and three, and finally singly, scattered here and there over a wide field of snow that seemed to be unbroken and unmarked by beasts of any description. To the left the hills reared their heads abruptly, snow-covered to the summits, grey and forbidding, as if they resented the coming of these strangers. Ah! The Redskin had lifted a hand; he came to a halt.

"He aer going to call agin," whispered Hank, who seemed to be tingling with excitement. "Ain't that 'ere Beaver Jack clever?"

None but an expert could, in fact, have produced the impression this seamed and lined Indian contrived at. That long, deep-toned call, rising and falling in cadence and halting abruptly, as if only half-completed, went booming across the snowy waste, and echoed amongst the pinnacles above. It was followed by a second call, the tone of which was distinctly angry, as if the beast summoning its own kind were vexed at the want of an answer. Then, as the same faint response came to their ears--but this time distinctly nearer--a plaintive note crept into the summons which Beaver Jack produced with the aid of his trumpet, till one would have said that even the most heartless of listeners would have dashed forward promptly. But your moose is perhaps one of the wariest of beasts. Gifted with acute hearing and still more p.r.o.nounced sense of smell, he is almost always suspicious.

The least doubt as to the genuineness of a call, the faintest suspicion of the presence of others, will keep him sulking in the background, hidden by the trees, or will send him dashing off madly, his huge antlers steered with wonderful skill between the branches, so that not so much as a sound might help a would-be pursuer. It seemed as if the one in the far distance were of this character, as if he were suspicious. It made no difference to his movements even when Beaver Jack, working himself almost into a frenzy with his efforts, produced more mournful sounds, and then struck the tree trunk beside him heavily. Still the answering response was weak-toned and far off.

"He ain't coming, that's truth," whispered Hank. "We shall have to get along towards him, and this time we shall have to creep over every yard. Ef the brute does come, you shoot, Joe. I've had many a chance; so's Jack. Take him jest below the point of the shoulder."

Joe gripped his rifle with both hands, and saw that the safety catch was in position; then he fixed his eyes on his two companions. Nor was it long before there was a movement. Beaver Jack bent double and, thrusting the muzzle of his weird birch trumpet into the snow, sent forth a challenge which seemed to skim curiously over the hillside and burst into bigger volume in the distance. Then he dropped on to hands and knees, having already kicked off his snowshoes and slung them over his shoulders. A second later he was creeping away amidst the scattered trees, casting more than one glance over his shoulder.

"This aer a fair conundrum," whispered Hank to Joe, when the little party again came to a standstill. "I've hunted moose many a time, and, as a rule, ef there ain't no wind, as is the case jest now, and a hunter aer cautious, there ain't no great difficulty in coming up with them. Of course it isn't every Indian who can call, let alone a white man. A Redskin is kinder born to it, and most of 'em can call same as ef they was real moose. Guess Beaver Jack aer one of 'em. But look what's happenin' to-day. There's no getting nearer the beast that's answered. He's heard our call and has challenged back, but he goes off a bit every time we move forward."

"Perhaps there's something else disturbing him," ventured Joe, somewhat baffled for an answer, cautiously raising his lips to Hank's ear. "I notice that Beaver Jack has looked over his shoulder once or twice as if he thought there might be something behind us. Perhaps he's heard a call from that direction."

"Nary a one. Ef there had been I'd have heard it," a.s.serted Hank, with decision; "but there may be beasts following. Ef it warn't fer the snow you could hear 'em by listening closely with an ear to the ground or placed hard up agin the trunk of one of the trees. But snow m.u.f.fles most sounds, especially footsteps. Ah! That 'ere beast called from a point a little closer."

Whatever the cause of their want of success, Beaver Jack and Hank were not the men to give up the chase without a further effort, and without some show of that wonderful patience for which hunters are notorious.

Time and again the Redskin repeated his call, and on a dozen occasions the trio went forward, crawling over the snow on their stomachs. At length, when Joe's small stock of patience was almost exhausted, the answering call came from a point distinctly nearer.

"That 'ere bull aer fair bothered," observed Hank, as Beaver Jack again buried the muzzle of his trumpet. "He aer been retreating all this while, and now it seems to me as ef he'd made up his mind that things was square, and had come towards us at a gallop. Ef he charges, don't wait too long. Give him a shot, and then ram in a cartridge."

It was perhaps some ten minutes later that the undergrowth clambering about the stems of a thick clump of evergreen pines three hundred yards from the hunters was suddenly rent asunder, and there emerged into the open two gigantic animals, the moose bull ahead and his consort behind him. As for the former, Joe could even at that distance see that his short mane was bristling, while his head was thrown upward, his antlers being carried high in the air, while one fore leg was poised, as if he were in the very act of galloping forward.

"Hah!" Joe heard Hank grunt. "That aer the meaning of the mystery.

That 'ere bull has gone on retreating till he felt as ef he were bound to go no farther, as ef, in fact, he'd be a coward ef he didn't turn and face the danger. You kin look out for trouble."

Click! went the safety catch of Joe's rifle. He swung it into position and, taking careful aim, pulled the trigger. Almost at once there came a snorting grunt from the moose bull. The beast threw his fore legs into the air and stood there poised for the instant. A second later he had launched himself against the little group of hunters, and came charging towards them at a speed which was terrific.

"Agin!" cried Hank, his eyes gleaming, while his fingers closed round his own weapon. Up went our hero's gun again, and once more his eye ranged along the sights. But he never pulled the trigger, for, of a sudden, there came a loud report from behind him, while something struck the snow three yards in rear and ricochetting from the surface went humming and screaming over his head. Then came a second shot, falling almost on the self-same spot, while the powdered snow driven upward by the bullet swept against his face in a thick cloud which almost blinded him. Sweeping the crystals away with one hand, he stared across the open, while Hank's sharp tones roused him from the form of stupor into which he had fallen.

"Git loaded," he commanded shortly, "and soon as you've given 'em a shot, run back where that 'ere moose has bolted. Reckon there's a pack of half-breeds after us."

The sharp snap of his weapon was heard instantly, and was followed by a shot from Beaver Jack's rifle. Then Joe, wrestling with the excitement into which this sudden interference had thrown him, levelled his own weapon at the foremost of two dog sleighs dashing across the open towards them, and steadily pulled the trigger.

"On snowshoes," cried Hank sharply. "Now, Beaver Jack, you kin take post behind us. You're the best when it comes to huntin', but when there's a ruction same as this is, guess Hank ain't in need of no coaching. Joe, you come second. Ef they gets much closer, you've to keep a tree between you and them most of the time, and ef they looks like heading us, why, in course we shall have to look lively to find a suitable place to hold, and must get to and fight 'em."

He turned without further warning, and with his rifle trailed in one hand dashed across the snow towards the thick clump of evergreens from which the bull moose had so lately put in an appearance. As for the beast and his consort, both had turned at the sound of that far-off shot and had dashed away at a pace which took them out of sight within a minute. It was but a few seconds later when the same evergreens closed about the figures of our hero and his comrades.

"We've got to search for thick forest all the while," called Hank softly over his shoulder. "Then those dog sleighs won't be able to make much pace, and so won't easily come up to us. Gee, this aer a do!

I reckoned all the while as there was something queer happenin', something that that bull moose kinder scented and yet warn't sure of.

This aer a fair business."

The sudden change in the fortunes of the little party was indeed extraordinary and inexplicable. Had either of the three been asked the question that morning, they would have declared that to the best of their belief there was not another living human being within a radius of perhaps a hundred miles. Yet see what had happened. Ever since an early hour that morning two sleighs, drawn by dogs, had been following their tracks up to the hills and along the elevated ground they had taken. Figures wrapped in skin garments much the same as Beaver Jack wore had trudged beside the sleighs, whirling their whips now and again above the heads of the teams they were driving. Then, coming to that open s.p.a.ce across which the chase had taken our hero and his friends, these strangers had leaped on to their sleighs and had come across the frozen surface at a rattling pace that brought them within long rifle shot of the hunters as Joe was in the very act of achieving a triumph.

When the latter turned, having narrowly escaped two bullets, it was to perceive the two sleighs being driven rapidly forward, one some ten feet in advance of the other. Instantly his eyes were attracted to the former; for in front sat a huddled figure, above whose head a long-lashed whip swirled and cracked, while behind there stood a burly man balancing himself wonderfully, and with rifle at his shoulder.

Who could he be? What was the cause of this sudden and unprovoked attack? From whence had come these men who had sprung upon the scene so unexpectedly? No wonder that Hank was troubled. Beaver Jack's seamed and heavily-lined face displayed not the smallest surprise or vexation; but Joe's features were a study. There was anger on his face; his lips were firmly pressed together. His bull-dog chin was, if anything, a little squarer than usual.

"Gee!" he cried. "Well, I'm jiggered."

CHAPTER XV

Pursued by Unknown Enemies