The Wilderness Castaways Part 33

"I thought for a minute it was all up with me, Dan. I'll never go out without a gun again."

"No, 't ain't safe. They's wonderful bold, when just two of un comes at you," and Dan turned over with his foot the carca.s.s of the wolf Paul had killed. "I never heard of un doin' that before. Paul, I were sayin' t' you once you was wonderful brave. You got a rare lot more grit than most folks."

"Oh, I don't know," said Paul, exceedingly proud of Dan's praise, but modestly inclined to deprecate his own prowess. "I just had to do what I did, or they'd have got me."

"Were un follerin' far?"

Paul explained in detail, as they returned to the cabin to get their toboggans upon which to haul in the carca.s.ses, his afternoon's adventure. When he had finished Dan said quietly and decisively:

"'Twere only th' wonderful grit you has, Paul, as saved your life. If you'd run, now, or showed you was scared, they'd ha' pulled you down quick."

"Won't my father be proud of that skin!" exclaimed Paul when they had the skins stretched for drying. "I'll have it mounted for a rug, and won't it be a beaut!"

"Both o' un," suggested Dan. "They'll make a fine pair together."

"But the other one is yours, Dan."

"No, 't ain't."

"Yes it is. You killed it and you've got to have it."

Dan objected still, but in the end Paul persuaded him it was his.

"Dad'll be wonderful proud t'see un," admitted Dan.

For two days a snowstorm, with high wind, swept the country, and Amesbury did not appear on Sat.u.r.day, but while the lads were eating a late breakfast on Sunday morning they heard him singing outside:

"'Yeow mustn't sing a' Sunday, Becaze it is a sin; But yeow may sing a' Monday, Till Sunday c.u.ms agin.'"

A moment later he came stamping in.

"Home again!" he exclaimed breezily, "and just in time for breakfast.

How've you made it, fellows? Heigho! What's this I see? Two wolf skins as sure as can be."

He examined them as he listened to the story of the adventure, and his face became grave.

"What would I have done now if I'd come home to find one of you chaps missing? If you want to save me remorse and heartaches, always carry a gun when you go hunting."

The weeks that followed pa.s.sed pleasantly for Paul and Dan, though there was much hard work and exposure connected with their work. They gradually extended their trails, putting out more traps each day until they had, between them, four hundred and fifty set, leading out in several short trails from the cabin. All of them were visited twice a week.

Amesbury's weekly visit was looked forward to with keen antic.i.p.ation, and he enjoyed it even more than the boys. Twice Ahmik surprised them.

He came, laughing and good-natured, and on each occasion remained three days, a mark of his attachment to the lads.

Each of the boys was once taken by Amesbury over his trail, but as he plainly preferred that they remain to work their trails and to keep each other company, they refrained from suggesting a second trip with him.

"I'm always afraid that the one of you at home may go wolf-baiting again, or something," said he, "and I feel better to know you're both here taking care of each other."

On a day late in March Amesbury came in from his trail with the announcement that he had struck up his traps for the season, and they would presently start for Winnipeg. This meant that at last they were to turn homeward, and as much as they had enjoyed their winter they were overjoyed at the prospect.

By prearrangement, Ahmik arrived simultaneously with Amesbury, and all were together in the cabin during the following week while pelts were made ready to carry to market, and the cabin made snug for Amesbury's extended absence.

Dan had succeeded in capturing thirty-two fine martens and Paul twenty-six. Utilizing the wolf and other carca.s.ses for bait, they had also trapped five red, two cross, three blue and fourteen white foxes, setting the traps for the foxes in common. Dan declared he had caught twice as much fur during these few weeks as his father had ever had in a whole winter. "And Dad's a wonderful fine hunter, too," said he, "but they ain't no such furrin' where we lives as they is here."

One cold, clear morning they said good-by to the little cabin on Indian Lake, and, each hauling his toboggan, turned southward. Day after day they traveled, through forests, over frozen lakes, across wide barren expanses of snow.

All wore amber-colored gla.s.ses, which Amesbury provided, to protect their eyes from the glitter, for, he explained, were they to travel with naked eyes they would quickly be attacked by painful s...o...b..indness.

Now and again they were held prisoners in camp for a day or two, when severe storms visited the country. Occasionally they killed ptarmigans, spruce grouse, porcupines, or other small game, sufficient to keep them well supplied with provisions.

They did not hurry, and April was well spent when they reached Moose Lake, where Amesbury had a small hunting cabin, and, under a cover built of logs, two Peterboro canoes and one birch canoe. The cabin itself was small and naked of furniture, save camp cooking utensils, a tent stove and a couple of three-legged stools. Bunks were built around two sides of the room, which also served as seats.

"This was my first camp," explained Amesbury. "I built it twenty years ago. There's a Hudson Bay post down the lake, and in those days I didn't want to wander too far from a base of supplies. I come in here and do a little bear trapping after I leave Indian Lake, and every two or three years take a run down to Winnipeg in a canoe. I take some of my provisions in from here, and get some from your old friend Davy MacTavish."

Here they went into camp, and before the ice in the lake broke up made a snowshoe trip to the post, where flour, sugar, pork and other necessities were purchased and hauled back on toboggans.

This period of waiting was very tedious to the lads. The snow was becoming soft and wet, the woods were sloppy, and had less of attraction than in the crisp cold weather of midwinter.

One night in May a heavy rain set in, and for a week it fell in a steady downpour. The snow became slush, and when the sun came out again, now warm and balmy, much of the ground was bare, and Moose Lake was nearly clear of ice.

"Now for the canoe and the homestretch," announced Amesbury, upon looking out upon the water and clear sky. "Tomorrow we'll start. What do you fellows say to that?"

"Bully!" exclaimed Paul. "I can hardly wait for the time when I'll get home."

"'T will be fine t' be afloat ag'in," said Dan, "an' I'm wantin'

wonderful bad t' see Mother an' Dad, an' tell 'em about my cruise."

"I thought you'd be ready to go. Big tales you chaps will have to tell of your adventures. I almost wish I were going with you," and Amesbury looked wistfully down over the lake.

"Why you are, aren't you?" asked Paul.

"Yes, as far as Winnipeg, to be sure. I want to see you chaps safe aboard the train. Couldn't take chances on your getting mixed up in any more trouble," he laughed.

"Can't you come on to New York with us?" asked Paul eagerly. "Oh, I wish you could."

"New York is a long way off, and a rough old trapper like me wouldn't know what to do in a big city like that."

"Yes, you would! I do wish you'd go home with me!"

Amesbury shook his head.

"No, I'm better off here, and I wouldn't do New York any good."

"Now I'm wonderin' how I'll be gettin' home," suggested Dan. "I've been wonderin' an' wonderin'. I'm all out o' my reckonin', goin'

different from th' way I comes, an' cruisin' around."

"Why," explained Amesbury, "you'll travel with Paul until he gets off and leaves you, and then you'll keep going on the train until the conductor puts you off, and you take another train. I'll tag you so you can't go astray," he added, laughing.

"No," protested Paul, "Dan's going right through to New York with me, and my father'll see that he gets home all right."