XIII
ON THE TRAP LINE WITH BILL
Bill delighted the boys by inviting them to his cabin to spend a few weeks on the trap line. They promptly accepted. They bade Ben farewell, and cautioned him to take good care of the owl, which they had christened “Old Snowball.” Then they fastened on their snowshoes, shouldered their packs, and started off with their rifles in quest of new adventures.
They followed the trapper over several miles of trail before he called a halt for the noonday meal. He made a fire and boiled some coffee, which accompanied crisp bacon from the little frying-pan and home-made biscuits.
Then they went on. It was not long before Moze dashed away noisily on the trail of a fox. The boys were for following him. Bill laughed and told them to wait until they reached his trapping-grounds, when they would have many such chances to stretch their legs.
Toward the close of day the lads found themselves in an entirely new country. Great forests of pine, balsam, hemlock, and spruce clothed the mountains and valleys. The sullen roar of hidden waterfalls reached their ears. The stand of timber was so high and thick that perpetual twilight reigned beneath it. The air was heavy with the resinous perfume of the evergreens. The setting sun gilded the western side of massive tree-trunks, and in the golden glow they saw the outlines of a tiny cabin.
“Here we are, boys; it’s not so powerful much to brag about in the way of a building, but it wasn’t put up for show. And when you have to cut, peel, and tote the logs to make it, single handed, you don’t care to lay on more than you need,” said Bill.
“I think it’s great,” said Ed, as he slipped off his pack before the door.
“So do I,” declared George.
“Well, come in and make yourselves right to home,” the trapper invited, leading the way into a cozy little room.
There were two bunks across the room, against the rear wall, one small window with a southern exposure, and the low door through which they had entered. A round, home-made pine table and several stools completed the furniture. In a corner stood a small cook-stove. On wooden pegs driven into the logs hung the few simple cooking utensils. Two large deer-skins covered one side of the room. Over each bunk was thrown a great bear-skin robe. Many smaller furs were tacked against the log walls. In another corner was a pile of rusty traps and chains. The snug little abode was home-like and scrupulously clean, and the boys were enthusiastic.
“Well, think you can stand it for a while?” asked Bill, as he busied himself about the stove.
“You bet!” they assured him. “It’s the real thing.”
The trapper went outside to what he called his “meat-house.” The boys followed, expecting to see some sort of a building. Instead, they saw him go to a near-by tree and lower a heavy white sack. Opening it, he showed them the haunch of a deer. When he had cut sufficient meat for their immediate needs, he hoisted the balance high into the tree again, where it swung safe from animals.
Bill provided a great supper, for he declared they must be hungry after their long trip. First they had oatmeal and maple syrup; next came fried deer steak with hot biscuit and tea; and then their host won them completely by cooking all the flapjacks they could eat. Moze sat by and helped consume several platefuls, which the lads slyly slipped to him beneath the table. Finally Bill discovered the trick and shut down on it. Moze had work to do, and must not be overfed.
That night they sat near the stove, for it was bitter-cold outside, while Bill entertained them with yarns of hunting and trapping.
“Which is the hardest animal to catch?” inquired Ed.
“The fox,” Bill declared.
Then he explained how the fox cleverly overturned and sprang traps, helped himself to the bait, and went on unharmed. Bill said he had set a circle of traps around a bait, only to find each of them sprung and the bait gone when he visited the spot next morning.
He laughingly told of the time when he was a boy, and how he and a young friend had tried to bait and shoot a lynx. They took some meat to the foot of a tall hemlock-tree, near which neighbors said they had seen the lynx. It was a bright moonlight night, and the lads climbed into the tree to await their victim. They sat on a stout limb, shivering with excitement and jumping at every sound.
Suddenly clouds smothered the moon, and the watchers found themselves aloft in inky blackness. They had about decided to descend and hurry home when the worst racket they ever heard broke out below them. Yowls, hisses, and snarls filled the air and caused the hair of the frightened youngsters in the tree to stand on end.
“Hey, Bill, there are two of them, and they’re fighting!” cried his friend, in great alarm.
At that moment they heard something clawing its way frantically up the tree. A minute later two shining green eyes were peering into their own. It was too much for the startled hunters. Bill slid down the rough trunk and left the seat of his trousers on a stub, and his friend dropped through the branches.
Bruised and jarred, they scrambled to their feet. They were on the point of dashing home with a wild tale of adventure when their own house cat brushed lovingly against their shaking legs. Then a plaintive meow sounded from the tree-top as the second pussy hailed them.
The boys laughed at Bill’s story, and said it made them think of the night they climbed the tree in the swamp.
The trapper fixed the stove for the night, and Moze stretched out behind it and was soon snoring loudly. Bill said they would have a hard trip on the morrow, and advised them to go to bed. He promised to awaken them at daylight.
True to his promise, Bill had them up and out with the first ray of light. Much against his wishes, Moze was left behind securely locked in the cabin. The boys carried their rifles, and Bill carried a stout hickory club.
They traveled through the fragrant evergreen forest for about an hour. Then they came to the head of the trap line in a shallow ravine. Bill had two traps set there about a spring-hole. He hoped to capture a mink whose tracks he had seen in the mud earlier in the season, and more recently in the first fall of snow.
The traps were unsprung and the bait undisturbed, and Bill thought the mink had wandered off to other hunting-grounds for a few days. He said it would probably return, and left some fresh bait. Then he started for his next trap.
Before they came to it, the trapper called attention to the trail of a large lynx. Bill explained the difference between its tracks and those of the fox and the dog.
“The lynx’s tracks differ from both the others’ by showing broader, more rounded impressions in the snow. Its trail is wider and indicates a shorter stride than that of the fox, when both animals are walking. The fox and the dog tracks are quite similar in form, especially when the animals are of the same size. But the tracks of both are more pointed than those of the lynx. The dog trail, more particularly when the animal is walking, can always be distinguished by noting the position of the paw-marks. At such a time they are seen one behind the other in an oblique line. Neither of the other trails shows such an angle.”
Bill thought the lynx, whose trail crossed their path, was hunting through a neighboring swamp in search of the large hare, or “snowshoe rabbit.” The boys were surprised to learn that this hare could jump ten or more feet when going at top speed, and that while running before hounds it would travel almost as fast and as far as a deer. They learned, too, that, like the weasel, its fur was brown in summer and white in winter. The lads were anxious to get one of these hares, and Bill promised some day to take them into its haunts.
As they drew near the place where he had his next trap, the boys saw some kind of an animal plunging about among the bushes.
“Hurrah! We’ve got something!” cried Ed.
“What is it?” inquired George, running ahead to obtain a better view.
“Fox,” said Bill.
The trapper walked forward, club in hand, and leaned over and dealt the animal a blow across the nose. Then he stooped and released the jaws of the trap. Rising, he held up the rich, glossy body of a red fox.
“Don’t you shoot them?” asked Ed, in some surprise.
“No, indeed; that would injure the fur and lose me many dollars,” replied the trapper. “Of course, in the case of a bear, or extra big lynx, I am obliged to put a rifle-ball between the eyes.”
Bill wedged a stick between two adjacent trees and hung the body of the fox from it. Then he cut a slit down the inside of each hind leg to the base of the tail. Next he inserted the knife-blade beneath the cartilage of the tail and severed it from the body. He peeled the skin over the carcass toward the neck and on over the head, first carefully pushing through the bones of the front legs and skinning them down to the paws, which he cut off. Bill was very particular to cut around the eyelids and nostrils. The boys marveled at the skill displayed in removing the pelt. The trapper said that method was known as “boxing” a pelt, and was used in skinning everything except racoons, beavers, and bears. These, he explained, were cut open down the front from chin to tail in what was called the “open” style.
Having finished his task, Bill rolled the pelt into a small bundle and placed it in his pack. After disposing of the body and resetting the trap, he carefully obliterated his tracks by brushing snow over them. Then he uncorked a small bottle and sprinkled a yellow essence, which he called fox scent, over the snow near the trap.
Again they resumed the trail and started for the third set, which was not far from the one they had tended. When they arrived there they found the trap sprung and the bait gone. All about were evidences of a fierce struggle—pieces of broken sticks, patches of gray fur, and the marks of a bloody footprint.
“Been a lynx in there,” declared Bill; “but it just nipped him by the toe, and he thrashed around till he tore loose.”
“Gracious, I’ll bet he was mad!” said George, looking about at the bark-stripped bushes on which the captive had vented its wrath.
Bill carefully reset the trap but said that particular lynx had probably grown wise by its experience, and would no doubt avoid the locality in the future.
They started for the next trap, and this time the trail took them through the middle of another large swamp, which recalled unpleasant memories of the boys’ late experience, and they half expected to hear the weird baying of the wild dogs. Many grouse were flushed, and Ed shot at one with the rifle, but missed. But they soon passed through the wild strip of soggy woodland and came out into the sunshine.
On they went through a stretch of open country, which ended at the border of a woodland pond. Bill pointed out many snow-covered muskrat houses, which had given to the small sheet of water the name of Muskrat Pond.
Bill had opened some of the houses and set his traps inside, and he now visited them to ascertain his luck. The boys were much interested in examining the interiors. They found them very similar to the abodes of the beavers. There was the same comfortable grass-lined living-chamber, the same underground tunnels into deep water, and much the same style of architecture and workmanship.
Some odd features of muskrat life were made known to the boys. They found that, when muskrats travel beneath the frozen surface of the pond in winter, they frequently rise and expel their breath against the ice. Then, after this bubble of air has been purified, the muskrat sucks it back into his lungs and proceeds on its journey, until compelled by shortness of breath to do the same thing again.
They were told, also, that muskrats have a very noticeable odor of musk about them, especially in early spring, which may have given them their name, although the Indian name was musquash; and learned that muskrats warn each other of danger by slapping the water with their tails, like the beavers.
A round of the traps yielded eight prime pelts. When Bill had finished with them, the journey was continued. He said he might easily trap many more muskrats than he did, but he had no desire to exterminate them or seriously decrease their numbers. He took as many as he believed he was entitled to each season, and no more.
The next leg of their circuit led them into a dense hemlock forest, where they found the trail of another lynx. Judged from the size of the footprints, this animal was larger than the one whose tracks they had crossed a short time before. The boys noticed that Bill was following the new trail with keen interest.
“I believe that fellow is going to get mixed up with one of our traps,” he prophesied.
“I guess we’ll have some fun, if he does,” said Ed.
“Shouldn’t wonder,” replied Bill, leading off into a group of small evergreens into which the tracks disappeared.
Hardly had they worked their way into this tangle of forest growth when a wild commotion took place some little distance ahead of them. The trapper turned toward them, laughing.
“He’s here all right, and mad clear through!”
Hurrying to his side, the boys saw a powerful gray animal tugging violently at the trap-chain and tumbling about over the ground. Then it crouched, and they saw the ugly, broad face with its long side-whiskers, and the ears tipped with black-pointed tufts of fur. Snarling and spitting, the lynx sprang forward to the full extent of the steel chain which connected the trap with a heavy log.
“I’ve an order to ship one of these fellows to a menagerie down in Boston. What do you say to taking this one alive?” asked Bill, smiling mischievously at his young companions, who stood aghast at the proposition.
“Gee whiz!” exclaimed Ed, looking at him in amazement.
“How on earth can we do it?” asked George.
“It’s going to be something of a job, but we’ll tackle it, anyway,” declared Bill, putting down the club and removing his pack and coat.
The lynx, as though endeavoring to frighten them, was making frantic efforts to break its bonds. Finding itself unable to do so, it finally squatted down behind the log, growling sullenly whenever they moved.
“Just let him tire himself out; it will make our job all the easier,” said Bill.
He produced several pieces of buckskin from the pockets of his corduroy coat, and two lengths of stout rope, and as many light chains from the pack. Then he took the ax and cut and trimmed a long, straight sapling. Joining the bits of buckskin, he made a slip-noose and fastened it to the end of the pole.
“We’ve got to get this over his head, and then we’ll stretch him out and tie him up,” he said, calmly.
Pole in hand, he made his way slowly toward the lynx, and it immediately jumped at him. When it struck the ground, scarcely two feet away, Bill made an attempt to shoot the noose over its head, but the agile creature sprang aside. For some time these manœuvers continued, and Bill was unable to get the loop over the head of the lynx. Once the encircling loop fell about its neck, and he instantly pulled the circle taut and snared one ear and half the face. Before he could stretch out the powerful body, the lynx tore the noose free with one of its paws.
“He’s sure foxy!” laughed the trapper, pausing to rest a moment.
The lynx again crouched behind the log, and peered over at them with savage eyes. It seemed to be resting and holding in reserve for the next attack.
“We’ll mix him up a little, now,” said Bill. “You fellows get poles and begin to poke at him in front, and I’ll sneak around behind him and try to slip the noose over his head.”
Armed with long poles, the boys advanced and took part in the fray. They made passes at the lynx, which instantly struck aside the saplings and sprang savagely at its tormentors.
Meanwhile Bill had worked his way up behind the animal, and while it fought the boys in front, he made several ineffectual attempts to snare it. But the wily creature, having felt the tickle of the buckskin noose, knew that the trapper was the enemy to be feared most, and it was on its guard.
At last it made a mistake, and, with a yell of triumph, Bill shot the noose over its head and drew it tight.
“We’ve got him now!” he cried.
The boys cheered enthusiastically as the lynx, coughing and snarling, was pulled over on its back and straightened out with its free legs clawing the air. Bill ordered the lads to hold the pole, and keep the lynx prostrate until he inserted a gag between its jaws and tied its feet. He warned them against giving any slack, and said he might be seriously clawed should they make the slightest blunder.
Stretched out with one foot fast in the trap and the choking circle of buckskin about its neck, the lynx was prevented from rising by the boys, who pulled vigorously on the pole. All the while the lynx was thrashing about madly in a useless struggle to free itself.
Working with lightning-like rapidity, Bill soon had the thick, muscular legs tied and drawn securely together. Then, having cut a hardwood gag, two inches thick and four or five inches long, he waited his chance, and slipped it between the jaws of his snapping captive. Next he took a piece of buckskin and passed it about the gag and around the head and jaws of the helpless lynx.
Having rendered the creature harmless, Bill cut two long, heavy poles. These he placed on the ground parallel to each other and about three feet apart. Across them he lashed shorter poles, close together, to form a platform.
Releasing the trap from its leg, Bill and the boys dragged their still defiant prisoner to the rough stretcher, and soon had him securely bound in place.
Then they shouldered the poles, and, carrying the captive between them, they started for the cabin. The lynx was heavy and the country rough, and before they had gone far the lads began to realize that they had a hard job on their hands. But they stuck to it, and finally, with aching shoulders, they arrived before the door of the little shack and set down their burden with a sigh of relief.
“We’ll have to build a good, stout crate to ship him in, and, meantime, we’ll leave ‘his royal highness’ tied up so he’ll do no harm,” said Bill, opening the door.
Moze instantly rushed out and hurled himself upon the prostrate lynx before any one could stop him. The trapper seized him by the neck and pulled him off, else he would surely have killed the helpless animal, which was entirely at his mercy.
“I’m afraid we’ll have our own troubles before we get that gray villain off our hands,” laughed Bill.