The Outdoor Chums in the Big Woods: or, Rival Hunters of Lumber Run

“You’ll have to count me out of that deal,” Frank told them. “You remember that I sprained my ankle yesterday, and a long walk would lay me up. If anybody goes, it will have to be you two.”

Jerry looked at Bluff.

“I dare you!” he said.

“No need of that,” came the reply, “because I’d be willing to start after that moose alone, and follow him for a week, if I thought I could get a fair crack at him in the end.”

“Then it’s a go, Bluff?” cried Jerry, greatly pleased, for up to now he had not been given much of a chance to bring down any big game on this trip, and was secretly chafing.

They shook hands on the bargain, and so it was ratified.

“When ought we make the start?” asked Jerry impetuously.

“The sooner the better, so as to keep his lead cut down as much as we can,” he was told by Bluff, after which they both turned toward Frank, for, after all, it would be from this quarter that the signal to start must eventually come.

“No need of rushing off as though you were crazy,” Frank told them. “Will says the moose didn’t act as though it was badly frightened by seeing him, so it isn’t likely it will cover a great many miles before stopping again. Lunch must be nearly ready. You must stop long enough to eat a lot, because there’s no telling when you may get another square meal.”

Bluff glanced quickly at Frank.

“Oh, we won’t get lost!” he said loftily. “Both of us have been around some in the woods; and, besides, I always carry a compass.”

“I wasn’t thinking so much of that as the chance of a blizzard coming down on you,” Frank continued. “Be sure to take along an extra supply of matches. I’ll see to it that each of you has something to help make out a meal or so. It won’t weigh heavy; but if you do need it you’ll thank me for it.”

Bluff and Jerry may have considered Frank a bit too old-womanish, making all that fuss over just going off on a little chase after a wandering moose.

Frank, however, understood what a blizzard meant up there in Maine. He had been in one or two himself, and would not care to repeat certain experiences that had come his way, unless well provided against hunger and bitter cold.

The three soon reached the cabin. It chanced that just then the call to the midday meal came. Will was too busy working at his developing tank to sit down with the rest.

“Plenty of time when I get through with this,” he told them. “Give me five minutes more to get this film in fresh water and then I’ll come.”

Bluff and Jerry were hurrying as fast as they could. Frank had redeemed his promise to see that there was something put up in small shape that would help out for supper, in case they were delayed. He also thrust several small boxes of safety matches into each of their coats, and made sure Bluff had his compass.

“Well,” said Will, stepping forward and holding up a dripping film, “take a peep at this, will you, and tell me if I know what I’m talking about or not!”

As soon as the boys saw the splendid negative, in clear-cut lights and shadows, they burst into a chorus of cries.

“It’s a moose, all right, Will!” Frank told the proud photographer.

“And sure a whopper, just as you said!” added Bluff.

“We take it all back,” Jerry vowed. “After this, we’ll own up that you know a bull moose from a mule or a buck deer every time.”

“That’s going to be a prize picture, all right!”

Those last words from Frank made Will very proud.

“I believe myself that I never got such splendid effects!” he exclaimed. “Why, I warrant you can see every hair on his head. Just look how I got him square in the middle of my plate! It’s better to be born lucky than rich, any day.”

“I’m done eating,” announced Bluff.

“Couldn’t cram another bite down, after seeing that picture!” Jerry proclaimed, as he darted over to the corner where his rifle stood, and began to buckle on the webbed belt filled with cartridges.

“Wear your sweaters, and be sure your woolen gloves are in your pockets,” cautioned weather-wise Frank.

He hovered about the pair, and constantly warned them against carelessness.

“I hope you get that big moose,” he told them, as they all pushed outdoors, “but don’t take too big chances. We would feel pretty sorry if anything happened to mar our holiday up here.”

“Frank, you can depend on us to be careful,” Bluff told him earnestly. “But for goodness’ sake don’t worry about us. We’re not the ‘Babes in the Woods,’ you know. If I do say it myself, we’ve had our eyeteeth cut for some time. There never was such a bully chance to get a big moose, and we want to do our level best. Look for us when we come. If we don’t show up by night, why, chances are we found ourselves so far away that we concluded to make camp.”

Bluff and Jerry shook hands gravely all around, even with Teddy.

“Good luck, and I hope you get him!” said that individual, meaning every word, for he had already come to care a great deal for these jolly boys who had been the means of helping him over a very rough place in the road.

“Got everything now?” asked Bluff.

“I should hope so,” grunted Jerry. “We’d be pack horses if we tried to carry any more truck along.”

“Of course,” Frank told them, laughingly; “but if you should have to stay over to-night you’ll miss your blankets the worst way. Well, so-long, boys, and we all wish you success.”

Turning, Bluff and his chum started for the spot where the trail of the big moose was to be taken up.

CHAPTER XVIII – ON THE TRAIL

“This is easy enough work, Bluff!”

Jerry said this as the two plodded along, following the trail left by the clumsy animal that had looked in on Will so unexpectedly.

“So far, we haven’t had any particular trouble,” Bluff replied. “The snowfall is what is called good tracking snow – that is, it’s just heavy enough without holding you up and making it hard traveling.”

“I wonder how much farther the old fellow means to go?” Jerry whispered, for he had been already warned by his chum that loud talking was unwise when on the trail of any animal with such keen hearing as a moose.

“Give it up,” Bluff replied. “I was just thinking how lucky it is for us he keeps heading straight into the wind. But I know how that is. A deer nearly always goes that way, because he can tell by means of his nose whether there’s any danger waiting for him ahead.”

“It makes it easier for the trackers, doesn’t it, Bluff?”

Bluff only grunted. He wanted to discourage his companion from trying to carry on a conversation. It was pretty hard to squelch Jerry under ordinary conditions, but his own good sense as a hunter must surely tell him how necessary it was they keep quiet.

They had been going along for more than two hours, and in such a direct line that they figured they must be some miles from camp. Neither of them recognized their surroundings, which would seem to indicate that they were in a section of the Big Woods they had never visited before.

Bluff was considerable of a woodsman. He consulted his compass frequently, and took various notes of his surroundings. Jerry saw all this, and had the utmost confidence in their ability to return to camp at any time the notion struck them.

If they were bothering their heads about anything just then, it must have been in connection with the chances they had of overtaking the big moose. Every little while Jerry would beseech his comrade to tell him how close he thought they had come to the quarry. On such occasions Bluff would prove true to his name. Although he actually did not know for certain, he would look wise, take another keen observation, wrinkle his nose, and then hazard some opinion.

“We’re gaining, all right,” he was pretty sure to tell Jerry, though declining to commit himself to any particular figures.

Both were by now beginning to feel the effect of the tramp. While the snow was hardly deep enough to interfere to any marked degree with their progress, in the long run it added to the labor of lifting their feet countless times. Its weight, whenever it clung to their heavy shoes, made an additional burden to be reckoned with.

“Bluff, it’s beginning!” whispered Jerry, after another spell of silence had reigned between them and they had covered still more ground.

“What is?” demanded Bluff, turning around to look at his chum uneasily, for he had detected a ring of uncertainty in Jerry’s utterance.

“I saw a snowflake drifting down just then; and – yes, there’s another; you can tell for yourself, Bluff!”

“Huh! Hang the luck, if it begins to come down on us now and blots out our trail, we’ll be in the soup!”

The flakes came down pretty heavily for a few minutes, while the boys continued to press on with mingled emotions.

It proved to be a false alarm, however. In five minutes Jerry remarked, again in an excited whisper:

“She’s letting up, Bluff; sure she is! I don’t believe we’re due for any big storm yet. The sky’s brightening a lot.”

Bluff saw that things were commencing to look better; but he fancied this was only a temporary relief. It might hold back for an hour, and even be delayed longer; but Bluff was almost as certain as Frank had been that a storm was impending.

“If the blooming old thing’d only keep away till we’d bagged our game, I wouldn’t say a single thing,” he muttered, and then fell silent while following the trail.

Fortunately there had not been enough snow to hinder them from seeing the plain tracks of the moose. So heavy an animal was bound to sink in and leave a trail that even a greenhorn could follow fairly well.

“What time is it, Bluff?” asked Jerry, upon seeing the other snatch a look at the little gun-metal watch he carried.

“Close on three,” he was informed.

“And we’ve been walking since noon, nearly,” Jerry continued. “We must have gone miles and miles.”

Bluff did not answer. He hoped in that way to convince his talkative chum that while there was a time for everything, a tracking expedition, with a wary old bull moose ahead, was not the occasion for carrying on a general conversation.

Occasionally flakes of snow would drift down. Jerry always observed their coming with fresh apprehension, and was correspondingly relieved when they stopped. It was as if the weather were holding off, though when the storm did break it was apt to prove all the more fierce on account of the delay.

Bluff had ceased examining his compass now. In fact, he was caring precious little whether they found themselves lost or not. Looking ahead, a night in the Big Woods did not appall him; being fond of adventure, Bluff might even welcome the experience for a change.

Being thrown on their own resources would bring out their ability to take care of themselves. Bluff was vain enough to want to show Frank he could be trusted when off in the timber, and get out of any tangle that might envelop them.

Perhaps when Jerry happened to feel the little package of food thrust into one of his pockets by thoughtful Frank, he no longer had that inclination to laugh. Knowledge that they carried their supper along with them was growing more and more inspiring the farther they walked.

“Even if we did come up on the moose soon,” Jerry observed, keeping his voice low, “I don’t believe I’d be equal to the job of going all the way back to our cabin again this afternoon.”

“Huh! Camp, then!” grunted Bluff.

“If we have to do that, I’ll surely forgive Frank for making me tote my little camp hatchet along, because it will come in handy for chopping firewood, don’t you think so, Bluff?”

“Sure,” was all the other could be induced to say, and he snapped that out as though he had a special grievance against the poor little word.

Jerry looked at him with gloomy brow.

“You’re not very sociable, it strikes me,” he ventured.

“And you’re too much that way,” he was told bluntly. “When you want to hear yourself talk so much, why don’t you hire a hall? But when you’re going to all this trouble to overtake an old bull moose, please, please shut up!”

“I won’t say another word for ten minutes!” declared Jerry, in a huff.

“Make it fifteen and I’ll thank you double,” whispered Bluff.

After that they walked on and on, neither as much as whispering. Bluff, in the lead, was bending part way over, so that his tired eyes could the better see the trail. All that whiteness was beginning to dazzle him considerably. Bluff felt a little alarmed, and hoped that he might not go snow-blind just when they were drawing near the quarry.

The wind was increasing, and it felt colder than at any time since they had arrived in the Big Woods. Should the snow start to descend, and the gale grow in volume, they must unite to form what Frank had called a blizzard.

Bluff knew something about such a storm. He had even been through an experience of the sort, though at the time he happened to be close to home, and on a well-traveled road, so there had been no such thing as getting lost.

It would be vastly different here, where the trees looked pretty much alike and all sense of direction must depend on a compass.

Jerry was, to tell the truth, pretty near the point where he would be willing to call a halt. A big moose was all very well, if only you could overtake him; but this thing of pushing on and on everlastingly, without seeming to get a yard nearer your intended game, seemed foolish.

That was what Jerry had begun to tell himself. He wondered how much farther his chum meant to go. Jerry would have asked the question, but really he was afraid Bluff would turn on him and snap him up in that quick way he had. Besides, he had said he did not mean to speak for at least ten minutes.

While he cast frequent looks ahead, it was more in the hope of seeing signs of the westering sun peeping out from the gray clouds that covered the heavens everywhere than that he dreamed of making any other agreeable discovery.

Once they had actually seen a deer jumping off through the timber. Bluff had half raised his gun to his shoulder, perhaps through instinct, and then lowered it again instantly, with a negative shake of his head.

Having started out for big game, he did not mean to be diverted from his course. A deer they could secure almost any time, but never again would such a glorious chance arise for getting a shot at a moose – and such a moose, in the bargain!

Frank had advised Bluff to leave his pump-gun behind this time, and carry the repeating rifle which Frank owned, a very serviceable and reliable weapon.

“A shotgun is all very well,” he had argued, “and some of them will shoot charges of twelve buckshot in a satisfactory way; but when it’s a tough old bull moose you’re after, or like that grizzly out West, you need something better. These soft-nosed bullets will mushroom when they strike, and fetch even a lion. They’re the kind they call dum-dum bullets, and are not allowed in warfare any more, but can be used for big-game hunting.”

And so it came that Bluff was carrying another firearm than his favorite pump-gun. Frank knew how tough these old moose may prove to be, and what sort of missiles it took to bring them down to their knees. That was why he had insisted on Bluff’s making the change in weapons at the last moment.

Jerry was soon wondering if that ten minutes must not be up, and whether Bluff would scold if he ventured to make just one little remark. He was getting tired, and he certainly did not mean to keep up this merry chase indefinitely. If he had a good chance, he wanted to tell Bluff that.

Then he observed that Bluff was showing signs of fresh interest. Yes, he even displayed more or less excitement, and bent lower than ever while examining the tracks before him.

Jerry, being held up momentarily by this action on the part of his comrade, assumed the easiest position he could, so as to rest his tired muscles, and then patiently waited for the other to start on again.

It was while standing in this attitude and looking carelessly beyond that some slight movement attracted the attention of Jerry. He started, and looked again. Then he felt an icy chill run over his frame, to be followed instantly by a burning sensation.

Yes, it moved again, he could be positive! His startled eyes traveled over the immensity of the brownish figure that was outlined there against the snowy background. Not daring, and really unable, to say a single word, Jerry simply reached out a quivering hand and, jerking at his chum’s coat, pointed directly forward.

And Bluff, looking, saw the moose before them, looking, as Will had said, “as big as a barn.”

CHAPTER XIX – THE HOUR OF TRIUMPH

Bluff looked, and then winked his eyes several times, as though he feared they might be deceiving him. Still that great reddish brown bulk was there. He could now even see the massive horns that reared upward above the animal’s head.

No wonder Will had admitted he was staggered by the size of the bull moose! There never could have been such a big animal, Bluff was ready to believe, in all the history of game shot in Maine.

He did not say a single word, though Jerry could hear a sharp hiss escape from Bluff’s lips.

That strong wind blowing directly in their faces, and from the moose, was greatly in their favor. So far as Bluff could understand, the animal either had not detected their presence, or was disdainful of the fact. He seemed to be doing something, for they could see his head uplifted, as though some low-hanging branch may have been the object of his attention, and he was engaged in stripping it of its still clinging leaves.

Now it happened that in the earlier stages of the woods chase Bluff and Jerry deliberately laid their plans looking to some such happy ending as had now come to pass.

Bluff was to take aim first, but not to fire until he knew his side partner was prepared to shoot also. In order that equal shares of the great honor that would attach to the killing of the giant moose should fall upon their heads, it was agreed to fire at the same second.

Jerry saw his chum slowly lifting his gun. He knew that Bluff wished to avoid making any quick movement, as that was likely to catch the attention of the beast, and cause him to start a speedy flight.

So Jerry copied the example. He, too, intended getting the stock of his rifle firmly planted against his shoulder, so that he could take a quick but accurate aim. Then when Bluff gave the signal – which was to be a low whistle – it was up to both boys to press their triggers.

They would never forget the sensations they experienced during that few seconds while bringing their guns to a level. It seemed ages to Jerry. He even began to believe he must be seized with some species of nightmare, and that a stupor prevented him from moving.

He was sure that the moose had glimpsed them. Indeed, it seemed to Jerry that the massive muzzle of the animal was pointed directly toward them, as though he might be waiting to observe another slight move before springing away.

Why did not Bluff give that little whistle? Everything was set, and ready for the finishing stroke. Jerry began to wonder whether it might not be that Bluff was trembling so much with excitement that he had actually lost the power to pucker up his lips.

Then it came.

The crash that followed sounded like the discharge of one gun, both reports blending into a single roar.

Enthusiasm seized both young sportsmen when they saw their victim floundering on the snow-covered ground.

“Hurrah!” fairly shrieked Jerry, throwing all his enthusiasm into that single word.

Bluff was meanwhile making his gun ready for further business. If this moose was as tough as people said, and rivaled the silver-tip bear of the Rockies in clinging to life after receiving a multitude of wounds, he meant to be ready to give him another shot.

“Throw out the old shell – quick, he’s getting up again!” Bluff hissed.

This time he sank on one knee, and secured a rest for his left elbow on the leg that was extended. He believed that he could give a better account of himself when in that position. Now if the old bull moose insisted on struggling to his feet again, he must be reached in a vital part.

There was no need of wasting any more ammunition, although the boys, not being experienced in this line of hunting, did not know it positively.

“Oh, Bluff, he’s gone crashing down again!” gasped Jerry.

“Yes, and this time, I guess, it’s for keeps,” added the other, though hardly able to realize that, after all, they had accomplished the great feat, visions of which had tempted them to follow the snow trail all these weary miles.

Together they started on a mad run toward the spot, eager to feast their eyes on the sight of that magnificent specimen lying there.

“Careful, Jerry; he may be playing ’possum with us!” warned Bluff, who had been fed of late on so many remarkable stories concerning a moose’s tenacity in holding on to life that he was ready to believe almost anything of this king of the Big Woods.

“Aw, he’s as dead as a doornail!” Jerry told him; and in proof of his assertion he strode up to the bulky carcass to push it with the toe of his shoe.

There was no movement, and after that no one could believe that an atom of life remained in the body of the bull moose.

“Shake on that, Jerry,” said Bluff, as they stood over the body of their victim; “I want to congratulate you on the nervy way you did your part. Both bullets found their mark, you can see. I reckon either one would have wound him up; so it’s a fair divide.”

“Yes,” the other ventured, “either one of us can say we killed him. Isn’t he a monster, though! Look at the horns, Bluff; would you ever dream a moose could grow such busters in a single season?”

“I hope they haven’t been injured by the fall,” remarked Bluff, bending down the better to examine the dead animal’s head adornments.

The horns of a full-grown moose differ radically from the antlers of a buck deer, being thick and massive rather than delicate and pronged. The cow moose does not sport any adornments on her head, and looks very much like a mule. But there is no species of deer in the American forests that can come anywhere near the moose in size and power, the elk possibly approaching closer than any other animal.

Neither of the boys gave the slightest heed to the fact that it was commencing to snow again and for about the sixth time since they started out.

“This is what they always say is the proudest moment in our lives, Bluff!” Jerry was remarking, seemingly content to stand there leaning on his gun and staring down at the biggest wild animal either of them had ever taken a hand in bringing down, if the grizzly bear, of which they were recently talking, might be excepted.

“I wish Will and his camera were here to get a picture of our first moose, the biggest one that will be brought down in the whole State of Maine this season, like as not.” And Bluff looked sad to think they might not have something to show as evidence when they wanted to back up the story they would tell about their moose hunt.

“What are we going to do with him, now we’ve got him?” asked Jerry, scratching his head.

“All anybody cares for in an old moose like this,” Bluff told him, “is the horns. You couldn’t get your teeth into his flesh, no matter if you filed ’em to a point. Of course, the Indians keep the skin to make moccasins and shoes out of.”

“Yes, I knew that, because I’ve had a pair of moccasins made of elkskin. When it’s tanned right, it makes a tough article for footwear. But suppose we did take the hide and horns, how in the dickens would we ever get them to camp?”

“If we could make some sort of sledge now,” Bluff went on to say reflectively, “with our hatchet, no matter how clumsy it was, we could manage to draw home what we wanted.”

“If we left anything behind that was worthwhile, we’d have to hang it up high, I should think, Bluff. You remember that we heard a wolf howling one night, even if we haven’t come across any of them since.”

Bluff was trying to figure out what their program should be. While they had made all possible arrangements as to how to track the beast and the method of firing by volley so as to better encompass his fall, the boys had not dared go beyond that point.

Jerry was afraid it would be too much like counting their chickens before they were hatched, and on his part Bluff felt perfectly willing to let that part of the future take care of itself.