Tom Fairfield's Hunting Trip: or, Lost in the Wilderness

“A man!” gasped George. “It was a man!”

“That’s what it was,” added Bert.

“Well, what do you know about that?” demanded Jack. “Was he sneaking around this cabin?”

“That’s about it,” answered Tom.

“But who was he?”

“That’s for us to guess,” went on the young hunter. “But I fancy I can come pretty near it.”

“You mean Professor Skeel?” asked Bert.

“Him, or one of his two friends.”

“But what would he, or they, be doing around our cabin?”

“That,” said Tom, and he spoke more soberly than he had for some time, “that is something I’d give a great deal to learn. It’s a mystery that’s been bothering me for some time.”

The chums looked at their friend in silence for a moment, and then Jack remarked:

“I’m going to have a peep around outside.”

The others followed, two of them carrying guns. They made a circuit of the cabin in the moonlight, but no other uninvited callers were observed. There were footprints about the shack, however, which showed that the man, whoever he was, had been listening under several of the windows.

“Well, he didn’t hear any secrets, for we weren’t talking any,” Tom said with a laugh, as he and his chums went indoors again.

“Except to say that we were going to Camp No. 3 to-morrow,” said Bert.

“That’s no secret.”

But it was the very information the man, who had been eavesdropping under the window, had come to obtain. He ran off with a smile of satisfaction on his evil face.

“They’ve got nerve – firing at me!” he muttered, not thinking of his own “nerve” in doing what he had done.

The boys were rather alarmed for a while, and quite indignant. They decided to take some harsh measures, if need be, to keep Skeel and his cronies off the game preserve. And with this resolve they went to bed, for they wanted to make an early start the next morning.

Ten o’clock the next day found our four friends well on their way to Camp No. 3. They had started their hunt in that general direction. It was an hour later, when, after several false alarms, the dog gave tongue to a peculiar cry.

“What’s that?” asked Jack.

“It’s a bear!” decided Bert. “Sam said the dog would yelp that way when he struck the trail. Come on, fellows!”

They ran forward to rejoin their dog, that had gone on ahead. He was now barking fast and furiously, and had evidently gotten on the track of something.

“Yes, it is a bear!” decided Tom, when he had noted the tracks in the snow. “And they’re fresh, too, otherwise the dog couldn’t smell ’em! They won’t lie long on snow. Go on, old sport!” and thus encouraged the dog bounded forward.

How the bear came to be out at that time of the year, the boys did not stop to think. But they eagerly followed the trail. It led on through the woods, and they hardly noted their direction.

At noon they stopped for a hasty lunch, grudging the time it took, for they were anxious to get sight of the big game. Once more they were on the trail.

“But it seems to be getting dark suddenly,” commented Jack. “I wonder if we’d better keep on?”

“Certainly – why not?” asked Bert. “The trail is getting fresher all the while. Come on, we’ll have him soon. He’s a big one, too!”

Again the boys pressed forward, the dog baying from time to time.

CHAPTER XV

LOST IN A STORM

Either the bear was a better traveler than the boys gave the brute credit for being, or the trail was not as fresh as Bert had supposed. For though they went on and on, they did not see the black ungainly form of Bruin looming up before them.

They were traveling through a rather thin part of the forest then, making good time, for the snow was not so deep here. Occasionally they thought they had glimpses of the animal they sought, but it always proved to be nothing but a shadow, or a movement in the bushes, caused by the passage of some big rabbit.

“There he goes!” suddenly cried George, pointing to the left.

“Yes, that’s him!” eagerly agreed Jack.

Tom and Bert also agreed that they saw something more substantial, this time, than a shadow. But a moment later the black object, for such it had been, was lost sight of.

“Come on!” cried Tom, as enthusiastic as any of his chums. “We’ve got him now.”

They raced forward, until they came to the place where they had seen the black object, and then they noticed a curious thing. For there were two sets of marks – human footprints, and the broad-toed tracks of the bear.

“Look at that!” cried Jack. “Was that a man we saw, or the bear?”

No one could say for certain. But this much was sure. The bear’s tracks led in one direction, and the man’s in another.

Was the bear chasing the man, or was the man hunting the bear, was another phase of the question.

“Look here!” said Tom, who had been carefully examining the two sets of impressions in the snow. “Here’s how I size this up. The bear’s tracks go in a straight line, or nearly so, as you can easily see. But the man’s tracks are in the form of a letter V and we are at the angle right here. The angle comes up right close to the trail of the bear, too.

“Now I think the man was walking through the woods, approaching the bear. He didn’t know it until he was almost on the beast and then the man saw it. Of course he turned away at once and ran back. You can tell that the footprints that approach the bear’s trail are made more slowly than the others – going away. In the last case the man was running away from the bear. But the bear wasn’t afraid, and kept straight on, paying no attention to the man.”

“That’s good argument,” observed Bert.

“Can you tell us who the man was?” demanded George.

“I’m not detective enough for that,” Tom confessed. “But I don’t believe the man was a hunter with a gun.”

“Why not?” Jack wanted to know.

“Because if he had a gun, he would have fired at the bear, and we’d have seen some change in the bear’s trail. Bruin would either have run at the shot, or attacked the man, provided the bullet didn’t kill at once. And you can see for yourselves that nothing like that happened. So I argue that the man had no gun.”

“Then he was Skeel, or one of his two partners,” said George.

“What makes you think that?” asked Bert, curiously.

“Because we never saw either of them with a gun.”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” Tom said. “There are lots of men in these woods who haven’t guns. It might have been Sam Wilson.”

“Can you tell anything by the footprints?” asked Bert.

“No. The star mark isn’t there, but that’s nothing. Well, whoever he was he got away, and we didn’t get close enough to make out who he was.”

“I tell you where you’re wrong in one thing, though, Tom,” spoke Jack.

“How’s that?”

“You said the man came up to the bear and ran away, turning off at an angle. I don’t believe he saw the bear, because we were watching the man, and we would have seen the bear if he had seen him, too. For it was right here we lost sight of the man.”

“Well, maybe I am wrong about that part of it,” admitted Tom, “but at least the man didn’t cross the bear’s trail. Something turned him back when he saw the marks of the paws in the snow.”

That seemed reasonable enough.

“Well, let’s follow the dog,” suggested Bert. “He’s after the bear, anyhow.”

This was so, for the dog had not even paused at the prints of the man’s feet in the snow. He evidently preferred Bruin for game.

But now it was getting so dark that it was difficult for the boys to see, even with the whiteness caused by the covering of snow on the ground.

“I say,” Tom spoke, when they had gone on a little farther. “I think we’d better turn back. It will be night before we realize it, and we’re a long way from either camp. It’s a question in my mind whether we hadn’t better start back for Camp No. 2, and let three wait for a day or so. It’s going to snow too, soon, if I’m any judge.”

“Why, we’re probably as near to No. 3 as we are to No. 2,” observed Jack. “Why not keep on? We haven’t been to Camp No. 3 yet, and I want to see what it’s like.”

“Well, we’ll leave it to a vote,” decided Tom, who never tried to “run” things where his chums were concerned. “One place is as good as another to me, but we’ve got to do something – and that pretty soon.”

“We’d better give up the bear, at least for to-night,” spoke Bert, and there was regret in his voice. “But we can take up the trail to-morrow.”

“Whistle back the dog,” suggested George. “And then we’ll decide what to do.”

But the dog did not want to come back. They could hear him baying in the depths of the now dark forest, but whether he was in sight of the bear, or was giving tongue because the trail was getting fresher, was impossible to say.

At any rate, the dog did not come back in response to the whistles shrilly emitted in his direction.

“Well, let him go,” said Bert. “He’ll find his way to one camp or another, I guess, if he doesn’t go home to Sam. He said the dog often stayed out in the woods all night, and came back in the morning.”

“All right – let him go,” assented Tom. “And now what shall we do about ourselves? Here comes the snow!” he cried a moment later, for the white flakes began falling in a swirl all about them.

“In for a blizzard!” commented Jack.

“Oh, not as bad as that,” murmured Bert.

“Do they have blizzards up here? How long do they last? Does it get very cold? How much snow – ”

“That’ll do, Why!” exclaimed Tom. “We’ve got something else to do besides answering questions. Now, fellows, what is it to be – Camp No. 3 or Camp No. 2? We’ve got to decide.”

“I say No. 3,” called out Bert.

“Same here,” echoed Jack.

“I’m with you,” was the remark of George.

“Well, I don’t agree with you, but I’ll give in,” assented Tom. “The majority rules. But I think it would be better to go back to No. 2 Camp.”

“Why?” asked Jack.

“Because we know just where it is, and we know we can be sure of a warm place, and plenty to eat.”

“Can’t we at No. 3?” asked George.

“Maybe, and then again, maybe not. We certainly will have to hunt for it, and it’s only a chance that it may have wood and food stored there.”

“Sam said it had,” observed Bert.

“Yes, I know. But there have been men roaming about these woods that I wouldn’t trust not to take grub from an unoccupied cabin,” went on Tom. “However, we’ll take a chance, but I think it’s a mistake.”

They turned about, and headed in as straight a line as they could for Camp No. 3. They knew the general direction, and had some landmarks to go by.

The storm grew more and more fierce. The snow was almost as impenetrable as a fog, and there was a cold, biting wind. It stung the faces of the boys and made walking difficult. It was constantly growing darker.

“I say!” called Bert, after a bit. He stopped floundering about in a drift, and went on: “I say, does anyone know where we are?”

“On the road to Ramsen,” suggested Tom.

“I don’t believe we are,” Bert resumed. “I think we’re off the trail – lost!”

“Lost!” echoed George.

“Yes, lost, and in a blinding snowstorm,” went on Bert.

CHAPTER XVI

THE DESERTED CABIN

Bert’s words struck rather a chill to the hearts of his chums. Not that they were cowards, for they were not, and they had faced danger before, and were used to doing things for themselves.

But now they were in a strange, mountain wilderness, following an unknown trail, and night was coming on rapidly. The storm had already burst, and it was growing worse momentarily.

“Do you really think we are lost?” questioned Jack, looking about him as well as he could in the maze of white.

“Don’t you?” responded Bert. “I can’t make out the least sign of a trail in these woods, and we have to follow one to get to Camp No. 3, you know.”

“Yes, that’s right,” put in George. “We are going it blind.”

“We’ve been going according to compass, since we gave up the hunt for the bear,” commented Tom.

“Well, it will be more by good luck than good management if we find either camp now,” said Bert. “But come on – we’ve got to do something.”

“Which way shall we go?” asked George. “We don’t want to get lost any worse than we are.”

“We can’t!” spoke Bert, dryly – that is, as “dryly” as he could with snow forcing itself into his mouth. “We’re as lost as we’ll ever be. The thing now is to start finding ourselves.”

“Let’s try this way,” proposed Tom, indicating the left. “According to my compass Camp No. 3 ought to lie off about there.”

“And how far away?” asked Jack.

“Not more than four miles – maybe five. But we can make that in about an hour and a half, if we don’t get off the trail.”

“That’s the trouble,” commented Bert. “We can’t see any trail. We are going it absolutely blind!”

And going it blind they certainly were. They were all a bit alarmed now, for they had no shelter for the night, and they had eaten most of their food.

Suddenly, as they tramped along over the snow, there came a crash in the underbrush to one side.

“What’s that?” cried George, nervously.

“That bear – ” began Bert, slinging around his gun.

“Don’t shoot!” cried Tom. “It’s our dog come back to us!”

And so it was. The intelligent and lonesome brute had abandoned the bear’s trail, and had come back to join his human friends. He was exhausted from long, hard running.

“Now he’ll lead us to one camp or another,” said Tom. “Welcome to our city, Towser!”

“What happened to the bear?” asked Jack, as the dog leaped about caressingly from one to the other.

“Evidently nothing,” Tom said. “I don’t believe the dog found him. His name isn’t Towser though, by the way. I’ve forgotten what Sam did call him, but it wasn’t Towser.”

“What makes you think he didn’t find the bear?” Bert wanted to know.

“He’d show some evidence of it if he had,” was the reply. “He’d have a scratch or two. No, I think he gave up the chase soon after we did, and came after us.”

“Well, now he’s here, let’s make some use of him,” suggested George. “Do you really think he’ll lead us back to camp, Tom?”

“Well, there’s a chance of it,” Tom affirmed. “Let’s give him a trial. Here, old boy!” he called to the dog, a beautiful specimen. “Home, old fellow!”

The dog barked, wagged his tail, and set off on a run through the driving snow. He barked loudly, turning now and then to see if any of the four young hunters were following.

“That’s the idea!” cried Jack. “Come on, boys. He’ll lead us, all right!”

“But where, is another question,” Tom put in. “My early education was neglected. I never learned dog talk, though I can swim that fashion pretty well.”

“Swimming isn’t going to do any good – not in this weather,” murmured Bert, buttoning his mackinaw tighter about him, and beating his arms at his sides, for they all had been standing still, and were rather chilled.

“I could talk hog-Latin,” Jack said with a smile, “but I don’t believe that is any good for a dog. Call him back, Tom. You seem to have more influence over him than anyone else, and he’s getting too far ahead. I wonder where he’s going, anyhow?”

“I don’t much care – Camp one, two, or three will suit me just about now,” Tom remarked, as he turned his face to avoid a stinging blast of snowflakes. “Surely the dog knows his way to all three of them, and, if they are too far, he may lead us to Sam’s farm. That wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Nothing would be bad where there was a warm fire and plenty of grub,” commented Bert. “But call that dog back, Tom, or we’ll lose him again. He’s off there somewhere, barking to beat the band!”

Tom whistled shrilly. A series of barks came in answer, and, a little later the dog himself came bounding through the snow. His muzzle was all whitened where he had been burrowing, perhaps after some luckless rabbit. But his bright eyes were glowing as the boys could see in the half-darkness that had fallen, and Towser, as they continued to call him, for want of a better name, seemed delighted at something or another. Whether it was the storm, the fun he had had trailing the bear, or whether he was just glad to be with the boys, and happy over the prospect of adventures to come, no one could say.

The dog barked, wagged his tail, ran on a little way, came back, barked some more, ran on again, and then repeated the performance over and over, getting more and more excited all the while.

“He wants us to follow him,” decided Tom. “All right, old man, I’m with you,” he said. “Come on, boys. We’ll see what comes of it.”

Together the four hunters set off with the dog in the lead. Truth to tell they did not feel very much like hunters that day, nor had they had any luck. Matters seemed to be going against them. And in the storm and darkness there was a distinct feeling of depression over everyone. The dog was really the only cheerful creature there, and he had spirits enough for all of them, could they but be transferred.

“Whew! This is a storm!” cried Tom, as he bent his head to the blast.

It did seem to be getting worse. The wind had a keener cut and whirled the sharp flakes of snow into one’s face with stinging force.

“It’s a young blizzard,” affirmed Jack.

“Well, if it does this in its youthful days, what will happen when it grows up?” Bert wanted to know, as he paused and turned around to get the wind out of his face while he caught his breath. No one took the trouble to answer him.

The dog seemed impatient at the slow progress of the lads, for he was now well ahead of them. They could only tell where he was by his barks, and by an occasional flurry of snow as he burrowed in some drift and then scrambled out again.

“Better call him back again, Tom,” suggested George. “He’ll get away beyond us, and soon it will be so dark we can’t see our hands before our faces.”

“Yes, I guess I will,” Tom assented. “I’d put a leash on him if I had a bit of cord, and hold him back.”

“Here’s some,” Jack said, offering a piece. “I had it tied around the package of sandwiches.”

“By the way – any of those same sandwiches left?” asked Tom.

“A few – why?”

“Because that may be all we’ll get to eat to-night.”

“What’s that?” cried Bert. “Aren’t we going toward camp?”

“That’s what I can’t say,” was Tom’s answer, as he whistled for the dog. “We may, and then, again, we may not.”

“But where are we heading, then?” George wanted to know, as Tom proceeded to tie the cord on Towser’s collar.

“That’s more than I can say,” Tom made answer. “We’re in the hands of fate, as they say in books.”

“Well, I’d rather hang to Towser’s tail,” spoke Jack, with grim humor.

“I’m sorry I got you fellows into this mess,” went on Tom, as they advanced again through the storm and darkness, this time keeping the dog closer to them by means of the cord.

“What mess?” asked Bert.

“Getting lost, and all that.”

“Forget it!” advised Jack. “It wasn’t your fault at all. You wanted to go back to No. 2 Camp, and the rest of us favored this move. I wish, now, we had taken your advice.”

“Oh, well, mine was only a guess,” Tom said. “We might have been as badly off had we gone the other way. We’ll just have to trust to luck. Come on. But what I meant was that coming out to-day to hunt was my proposition. I was afraid there was a storm coming.”

“We wouldn’t have stayed home on that account,” George asserted. “We’re all in the same boat together, and we’ll have to sink or swim – or skate,” he added, as the icy wind smote him.

It was now about six o’clock, but as dark as it would have been at midnight. The moon was hidden behind dark clouds, but of course the white snow made it lighter than otherwise would have been the case. But in the dense woods even this did not add much to the comfort of our friends, and its increasing depth made it harder to walk.

Almost before the boys knew it, they had emerged from the forest to a road. They could tell that at once.

“Hurray!” cried Tom. “Now we’ll be all right. A good road to follow.”

“And a signpost, too, to tell us which way to go!” added Jack.

He pointed through the storm to where was evidently a crossroad, at the intersection of which was a post with the familiar boards on it.

“What does it say?” asked Bert, as Tom stood at the foot of it.

“Have to get out the electric light,” Tom said, producing a pocket flashlight. By its powerful tungsten gleam, he read:

Seven Miles to Ramsen

“That’s the ticket!” he cried. “Ramsen is the way we want to go. Camp No. 3 lies in that direction. Now we’re all right, boys!”

“Good old signpost!” murmured Jack.

But, had he only known it, the signpost was a “bad” one, though, as we know, that was not the fault of the post itself.

Trudging along the road was easier now, and the boys made better time. But it was tiresome work at that. And when, a little later, they saw a building looming up at one side of the road, Bert cried:

“There’s our camp now!”

For a moment they thought it was, but a closer look showed that it was not. It was an old deserted hut, almost in ruins, and as Tom flashed his light within, a sorry sight was presented to the eyes of the boys.

“Let’s go inside,” was Tom’s proposal, and his chums looked at him in some amazement.

CHAPTER XVII

SPIED UPON

“What do we want to go in there for?” asked Jack, at length.

“Because,” was the rather short answer of Tom. Then, feeling perhaps that he might explain a little more at length, he turned from where he stood in the tumbled-down doorway, and added:

“Let’s get in out of the storm. This is a good place to rest, away from that cutting wind. Quiet, Towser,” he added, for the dog showed signs of not wanting to go in. He growled and hung back. Then he looked in the direction in which they had come, and his hair rose on the back of his neck as though he saw something the boys did not see, and resented the sight – whatever it was.

“I don’t like that,” commented Bert. “Dogs know more than we do – sometimes.”

“Oh, come on in!” repeated Tom, and he spoke to the dog again. This time Towser followed his temporary master inside the hut.

“But what gets me is why are we going in?” objected George. “It will only delay us, and if we’ve got to make seven miles to Ramsen to-night, we’d better be getting at it.”

“That’s just it,” spoke Tom quickly. “I think we can’t get at it.”

“What do you mean?” came from Jack.

“I mean that we can’t go on in this storm. It’s getting worse every minute, and we may stray off the road. We have found this shelter providentially, and we ought to take advantage of it. It will give us a half-decent place to stay, and we won’t be buried in the snow which may happen if we keep on.

“Come inside and stay here, that’s what I mean,” Tom went on. “It might be a heap-sight worse,” and he flashed his torch about the bare and crumbling ruin of the cabin.

“What!” cried Bert. “Do you mean to stay here all night?”

“Why not?” asked Tom. “It’s better than being out in the storm, isn’t it? Hark to that wind!”

As he spoke a blast howled around the corner of the shack, and blew a cloud of flakes in through a glassless window.

“It’s a little better than outside – but not much,” murmured George. “Look at those windows.”

“We can find something to stuff in them,” said Tom cheerfully. “There may be some old bags about. And we haven’t been upstairs yet. This place may be furnished better than we think. Come on, boys, make up your minds to stay here.”

“Well, we might do worse, that’s a fact,” slowly admitted Jack. “Say, look at that dog, would you!”

His manner, as he said this, was excited, but no less so than that of the dog. The animal brushed past the group of boys, fairly pulling loose the improvised leash from Tom’s hand and stood in the doorway with bristling hair, lips drawn back from his teeth and showing every appearance of anger.

“Something ails him,” spoke George, in a low voice.

“I should say so,” agreed Tom, rubbing his hand where the stout cord had cut into him, even in spite of his heavy mitten.

“It’s that bear!” cried Jack.

“What?” questioned Tom.

“That bear we were following,” explained Jack. “It’s outside now, and the dog has winded him. Where’s my gun? I’m going to have a potshot at him!”

He started toward the corner where he had stood up his gun. The interior of the cabin was fairly light, for Tom had snapped on the permanent switch of his little pocket electric light.