The Wilderness Castaways Part 25

"I wonder if we'll have to work tomorrow?" asked Paul, when they returned to the saw after dinner.

"I'm thinkin' not," answered Dan. "Amos were sayin' they keeps Christmas as a holiday."

"If we don't have to, I want to get out in the bush, away from here, anywhere. I'll be homesick if I spend Christmas in this place. Can't we go for a hunt back in the timber, and have a camp fire and a good time?"

"'Twould be fine!" agreed Dan. "Now I were thinkin' of just that myself. I'm wantin' t' get off somewheres wonderful bad. I've been a bit lonesome all day, thinkin' of home an what they's doin' there, an' whether they misses me."

Dan's voice choked, and for the first time since their acquaintance began Paul saw tears in his eyes. Dan hastily brushed them away with his mittened hand, ashamed of giving way to his feelings, and continued more cheerfully:

"Mother's like t' worry a bit, but Dad won't let she. Dad'll be tellin' she we're all right. Dad'll not be fearin' I can't take care of myself."

"I've been thinking about my father and mother too--and what they're doing, and whether they miss me much. We always have such a jolly time on Christmas. Mother gave me this watch last Christmas," and Paul took his fine gold watch from his pocket, caressed it and returned it to its place again. "It's a nifty one," he continued. "Father gave me my pony--the black pony I told you about--'Pluto' I call him. But Mother was always afraid he'd hurt me, and never let me go riding alone. Old John--he's the groom--went with me, and he just kept me to a walk.

There wasn't much fun in that and I soon got tired poking along and didn't go out much. When I get home again, though, I'm going to have fun with Pluto, and Old John can stay at home."

"Your father must be wonderful rich. I never did be a-horseback, but I has one o' the smartest punts in Ragged Cove. Dad made un an' gives un t' me. I'm thinkin' I likes a punt better 'n a horse."

And so they talked on as they worked, until darkness came, and they left the woodpile to fill in the time until the bell called them to supper, giving Tammas and Amos a hand, Paul in the blacksmith shop, Dan in the cooperage.

When at length the clanging bell called them from work, and they sat down to supper, Tammas announced:

"Weel, laddies, ye've earned the holiday ye'll have tomorrow. I'm not given to praisin' mair than is a just due, but I may say fairly ye've weel earned the holiday."

"We'll have the holiday, then?" asked Paul eagerly. "Can we do as we want to?"

"Aye, lad, ye may do as ye wishes. There's t' be na work on Christmas day."

"Dan and I were wondering about it. We'll go hunting, I guess."

"We'll be startin' with daybreak," said Dan.

"Ye must na be missin' the plum duff at dinner, laddies."

"We want to get away. It is too bad to have to miss plum duff, but I guess we'll have to let it slide, unless Chuck saves some for us."

"Have na fear o' that. I'll see he saves ye a full share. Go huntin'

if ye've set your hearts on goin', laddies."

They were away at daybreak. The air was still and piercing cold, driving them to a smart trot to keep their blood in circulation. Dan was an old hand on snowshoes and Paul had already become so adept in their use that he jogged along and kept the pace set by Dan with little difficulty.

They took with them their frying pan, their teakettle (a light aluminum pail) and two cups. Their provisions consisted of a small piece of fat pork, some bread, tea, salt and a bottle of black mola.s.ses--for here mola.s.ses was used to sweeten tea instead of sugar--which Chuck gave them for their dinner. Each carried a share of the equipment slung upon his back in one of their camp bags.

Paul took his shotgun, Dan the axe and Paul's rifle, for the cartridges for his own rifle were nearly gone. They had no intention of making an extended hunting trip. Their chief object was a pleasant bivouac in the forest, where they could enjoy an open fire and freedom from post restraints.

First they made for the willows that lined the river bank two miles above the post. Tammas had told them they were certain to find large flocks of ptarmigans there, feeding upon the tender tops of the bushes. This proved to be the case, and without difficulty Paul secured a half dozen of the birds with his shotgun.

Not far beyond they halted among the thick spruce trees, and made a rousing camp-fire. Then Dan with the axe built a lean-to facing the fire, while Paul broke spruce boughs with which to thatch it, and for their seat.

These preparations completed, and the ptarmigans plucked, they lounged back upon the boughs under the shelter of the lean-to, to chat about their homes, their plans, and their home-going, until time to cook dinner.

Two of the ptarmigans were fried with pork, and the bread was toasted, for variety, and it is safe to say that nowhere in the wide world was a banquet eaten that Christmas day with keener relish or greater enjoyment than this simple meal in that far-away spruce-clad wilderness.

Dinner eaten and dishes washed, Dan piled fresh wood upon the fire, and the boys spread themselves luxuriously upon the boughs to bask in the warmth. Paul lay gazing into the blaze, quite lost in thought, while Dan played his harmonica.

One of Dan's favorite tunes was "Over the Hills and Far Away."

Presently he struck up the air, and immediately a melodious tenor voice, singing to the accompaniment of Dan's music, began:

"Tom he was a piper's son, He learned to play when he was young; But all the tune that he could play, Was 'Over the hills and far away.'"

The boys were startled. They had heard no one approach, and they sprang to their feet.

Standing by the fire opposite them was a tall, lank man of middle age.

In the hollow of his left arm a rifle rested. He was dressed as a trapper--a fur cap, buckskin capote, buckskin leggins, and moccasins.

Beside him stood an Indian, similarly dressed and nearly as tall and lank as himself.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The boys were startled. They had heard no one approach]

CHAPTER XV

THE TRAPPER FROM INDIAN LAKE

The stranger laughed at the startled boys, who gazed at him and the Indian in mute surprise. Wrinkles at the corners of his gray-blue eyes indicated habitual good humor. The eyes themselves seemed always to smile, even when his lips did not.

"You were having such a good time," said he, in a rich, well-modulated voice, "that I disliked to disturb you, but it has been so long since I saw a white face that I had to do it."

"We're mighty glad you did," answered Paul, who instinctively felt that in spite of his rough exterior and dress their visitor was well bred and cultured. "Won't you sit down?" he continued. "We're just out from the post enjoying the holiday."

"Thank you, we will join you, and perhaps return to the post with you, if you don't mind." He kicked off his snowshoes, stuck them upright in the snow at the end of the lean-to, the Indian following his example. Then extending his hand to each of the boys he said, by way of introduction:

"My name is Charles Amesbury. I'm trapping back in the Indian Lake country. My friend here is Ahmik, though you will hear them call him John Buck at the post."

"My name is Paul Densmore."

"Mine's Dan'l Rudd."

"How do?" said the Indian, following his companion's example and shaking hands.

"You seem to be having a cozy time here," remarked Amesbury, picking the ice from his beard as rapidly as the heat from the fire loosened it sufficiently.

"We're having a bully good day. We were getting homesick over at the post, and ran over for the holiday."

Dan had gone to the river for a kettle of water, and returning put it over the fire.

"We'll be boilin' th' kettle, an' you'll have a snack o' pa'tridge along with a cup o' tea," he suggested.

"Thank you. Don't mind if we do, eh Ahmik?" And Amesbury contentedly stretched his long legs, which seemed very much in the way.