Carolyn of the Corners Part 32

When Tim had his load perfectly secure again he tossed the sacks on the logs, and then lifted Carolyn May to the top. Prince whined and barked at her. Her eminence was too great for him to gain.

"Never mind, Princey," she called to him. "You'd rather run, you know you would. We're going home now."

The men in sight swung their caps and called their good-byes after her.

Judy Mason flapped her ap.r.o.n from the cabin door. The sailor reached up to shake her mittened hand. This time the horses started properly, and, groaning, the heavily laden sled swung into the beaten track.

The sun was already down; a silver paring of moon hung above the tree tops, growing brighter each minute as the daylight faded. The stars would soon begin to sparkle in the heavens. The track led through the thick wood, which quickly hid the camp and all its busy scene from view.

Timothy had climbed to the top of the load, too, and settled himself comfortably for the ride. He proceeded to fill and light his pipe.

"Aren't you ever scared that there might be bears or something in the woods, Mr. Timothy?" Carolyn May asked him, looking about in some trepidation. "Of course, with Prince here, I know that no wild animal could steal upon us. But when you're alone?"

Tim chuckled. "Bears don't pedestrianate around in winter-not as ever I heard on," he said. "They've got too much sense. Bears hole up when the snow flies. An', b'sides, they're ain't no bears. All done away with long ago."

"Are you sure?" Carolyn May asked anxiously.

"Sure as shootin'. Pitcher of George Washington! think I'd go traipsin'

through these woods without no gun," Tim asked, grinning at her, "if there was anything fiercer'n a polecat to be met up with? An', come to think of it, _they_ hole up in winter, too. Gid-ap, there, ye lazybones!"

The horses nodded their heads, as though agreeing with all he had said; the bells tinkled and the sled runners crunched over the snow. Prince did not feel so much like "cavorting," as Tim called it, and followed the sled at a sober gait. The woods were very silent. Not a bird winged its way across their path, and all the rabbits seemed to have hidden themselves. The little girl began to nod and her eyes blinked.

Suddenly, on the branch of a tree that overhung the road they were following, Carolyn May saw a grey, furry body hugging close to the limb.

"Oh! what's that?" she gasped, scarcely loud enough for Tim to hear.

At one end of the grey body a round, catlike head was thrust out over the branch-the eyes yellow and glaring, the pointed ears erect.

"Oh, what a big cat!" Carolyn May cried, louder now. "See there!"

Tim, the hackman, turned in startled haste. At her cry the animal on the limb gathered its legs under it, arched its back, and uttered a startling screech.

"Oh, dear me!" murmured Carolyn May, "he's seen Prince."

This was probably the case, for the creature repeated its yowl, just like an enraged tom-cat, only much louder than even old Jimmy could squall. Tim yelled to the horses and bent forward to lash them with the slack of the reins.

They leaped ahead, but not soon enough to carry the loaded sled out from under the limb. Prince, who had uttered a challenging growl, danced around the trunk of the tree. The huge cat leaped!

"Oh, my! Oh, my!" shrieked Carolyn May.

She did not realise the full danger of the situation. A mad lynx is no pleasant beast to meet; and this one, when it leaped, landed upon the rear of the load of logs.

"Pitcher of George Washington!" yelled Tim, the hackman. "We're boarded by pirates, sure enough!"

The squalling, clawing brute tried to draw itself up on the logs. The horses were running now, and the jolting of the sled made the beast's hold precarious. Besides, just as the cat landed, Prince darted around to the rear of the sled. With a growl of rage, the big mongrel flung himself upward and managed to seize the lynx just at the root of its stubby tail.

Then there was a squalling time, indeed! The cat, clawing and spitting, sought to retain its hold on the logs, and yet strike at its adversary.

Prince had claws of his own, and he was scratching at the logs to gain a foothold; but his claws were not like the sabre-sharp nails of the lynx.

A single thrust of a spread paw of the cat would have raked poor Prince's hide to shreds.

With the horses galloping and the lynx jouncing, half on and half off the logs, there was little likelihood of the wildcat's turning on its enemy. There was enough bull in Prince to clamp his jaws in an unbreakable hold, now that he had gripped the lynx.

Carolyn May was thoroughly frightened. She had to cling with both hands to save herself from being flung from the sled. Tim began to realise, at length, that he must do something besides yell at the horses.

"Pitcher of George Washington!" he gurgled. "That blamed wood-p.u.s.s.y's gotter git off this load! I didn't come out here to give it a ride, I vum!"

He hung the reins on one of the sled stakes, seized a hickory club as thick as his forearm, and crept back towards the angry animal.

The dog's weight hanging to its tail was giving the lynx about all it could think of or take care of; yet it spat at Tim and struck at him with one paw.

"Would ye, ye nasty beast?" cried Tim, rising to his feet. "Scat!"

He struck at the head of the lynx with his club. That blow certainly would have done some execution had it landed where Tim intended it to land-on the creature's head. But, instead, the end of the club came down with great force on a log.

The blow had a tremendous effect, but not in the way Tim expected. The jar of the stroke almost paralysed the man's arm. He uttered a groan and staggered back. The sled runner went over a hummock just then on one side of the trail, while the runner on the other side sank into a rut.

Like a diver from a springboard, Tim went head first, and backward, into a s...o...b..nk beside the road.

"Pitcher of George-" The rest of his favourite e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n was smothered by the snow, into which he plunged so deeply that only his felt boots, kicking heavenward, were to be seen.

Meanwhile, the sled lumbered on, although the reckless pace of the horses was reduced.

The peril to the little girl on the pile of logs increased, however, as the pace of the horses decreased. She was quite helpless, save that she managed to retain her grasp on the log-chain. But there was n.o.body to protect her now from the furious beast that was making its best endeavour to crawl to the top of the logs.

If the lynx shook the mongrel loose it would attain its desire. a.s.sured of a footing on the logs, there was no knowing what it might do in its rage. Carolyn May was in the gravest peril.

The child was too excited to cry out again. She clung with her mittened hands to the chain and gazed back at the snarling, spitting lynx with wide-open, terrified eyes.

Both beasts were scratching and tearing at the logs to obtain a foothold; the lynx was energetically trying to drag itself and the dog farther up on the logs, while Prince was striving to pull down his prey.

The dog seemed to know his little mistress was in danger. He was not going to let go. It was the lynx that finally gave in.

Squalling and clawing, its nails stripping long splinters from the maple logs, the cat fell back. When the two animals struck the hard snow, Prince was shaken off.

But the mongrel was brave. He dived in again and seized the lynx, this time by the throat. The cat got in a stroke with its hind paws. The lacerations along Prince's side were deep and painful, but he held to his prey.

Meantime, the horses plunged on, dragging the loaded sled over the rough road at a pace which still imperiled the little girl. Each moment she might be shaken from her hold and flung from the logs into the roadway.

Should she fall, it was not likely that she would escape harm, as had Tim, the hackman. He had now struggled out of the drift unhurt, and came staggering along the track, shouting in futile fashion for his team to stop.

Oddly enough, he had clung to the club all this time, and, reaching the b.l.o.o.d.y patch of snow where the dog and the lynx struggled, he set upon the big cat and beat it so about the head that it was very quickly dead.

"Come on! Come on!" Tim shouted to the dog. "You ain't got to stay here and growl at that critter no more. _Ketch them horses!_"

Prince actually seemed to know what Tim meant. Sore and bleeding as he was, the dog did not halt even to lick his wounds. He dashed ahead, barking, and quickly overtook the sled. The horses were not going very fast now, but they were not minded to halt, for all of Tim's shouting.

Prince sprang at the nigh horse and seized its bridle rein. The team swerved out of the path, Prince hanging on and growling.

The sled struck an obstruction and the team stopped.