Around the Camp-fire

“At the sight of him I felt new vigor flow through all my veins. With fresh speed I raced along past the front of the landing, turned the corner, and bounded up the slope. Reaching the hard track, I kicked my feet clear of the snow-shoes, and started to climb up the logs to join Stranion.

“At this moment Stranion found his opportunity. The bear came plunging along on my tracks, immediately beneath the face of the logs. And now, with a stake which he had snatched up, Stranion pried mightily upon the two front logs of the top tier. The great timbers rolled swiftly over the edge.

“One of them, the heaviest, was just in time. It caught the animal over the hindquarters, and crushed him to the ice. When Stranion’s triumphant shout proclaimed the success of his attack, I threw myself down between two logs and lay there gasping, while Stranion returned to the camp, got his gun, and put the wounded animal out of his pain.

“Later in the day, much later, Stranion and I together went over the ground I had traversed with such celerity. We recovered the rabbits, and also, after a persistent search in the snow, the gun which I had so basely abandoned.”

“I think that is a pretty straight account of what happened,” said Stranion; “and now we will hear something from Magnus’s uncle.”

“No,” said Magnus; “I’ll tell you something my cousin Bob Raven told me about a time he had with —

‘A MAD STALLION.’

“There is perhaps no beast,” said Bob, “more terrible, more awe-inspiring, than a stallion that has gone mad. Such an animal, bursting all the fetters of his inherited dread of man, seems inspired with a frightful craving to take vengeance for the immemorial servitude of his kind. As a rule, he has no quarrel with anything but humanity. Often with other horses he associates amicably, and toward the cattle and lesser animals that may be with him in the fields he displays the indifference of disdain. But let man, woman, or child come within his vision, and his homicidal mania breaks into flame.

“I have had several disagreeable encounters with vicious horses, but only once was I so unfortunate as to fall in with one possessed by this homicidal mania. My escape was so narrow, and the experience left so deep an impression upon my mind, that I have felt ever since an instinctive distrust for this most noble of domestic animals.

“One autumn, when I was about eighteen, I was taking a tramp through the eastern townships of Quebec preparatory to resuming work at college. I reached the little village of Maybury one day at noon, and dropped into the village inn for luncheon. The village was in a state of excitement over a tragedy which had taken place that very morning, and which was speedily detailed to me by every one with whom I came in contact. The most authentic account, as it appeared, was that given me by the proprietor of the inn.

“‘You see,’ he answered eagerly, in response to my question as to the cause of the general excitement, ‘a boy ’at old Joe Cook was bringin’ up on his farm has jest been killed by a mad horse. The boy come out from Liverpool las’ June two year ago, with a lot more poor little beggars like him; an’ old Joe kinder took a fancy to him, an’ was a-bringin’ him up like he was his own son. The horses is mostly runnin’ at pasture now in the back lots yonder; an’ Atkinson’s stallion, what has always had the name of bein’ kind as a lamb, is pasturin’ with the rest. But he seems somehow to’ve gone mad all on a suddent. This mornin’ airly, as Cook’s boy was comin’ home from drivin’ the cows out onter the uplands, he found the horses all crowdin’ roun’ the gate leadin’ onter the meadows. He knowed some of ’em might try and shove through if he didn’t take keer, so he jest kind of shooed ’em off with a stick. They all scattered away savin’ only Atkinson’s stallion; an’ he, wheelin’ round with a kind of screech as’d make the marrer freeze in your bones, grabbed the boy right by the back of the neck, an’ shook him like old Tige there’d shake a rat. I guess the poor boy’s neck was broke right off, for he never cried out nor nothin’. Steve Barnes was jest then a-comin’ up the meadow road, an’ he seen it all. He yelled, an’ run up as fast as he could; but afore he could git to the fence the stallion had jumped on the boy two or three times, an’ was a-standin’ lookin’ at him curious-like. Steve seen ’at the boy was dead, but he started to climb over an’ drive off the brute; but as soon as the stallion seen Steve he let another screech, an’ run at him with his mouth wide open, an’ Steve had nothin’ fur it but to hop back quick over the fence. Seein’ as the boy was deader’n a door-nail, Steve didn’t think it’d be common-sense to resk his life jest for the dead body; but he stayed there a-stonin’ the brute, which was jest spilin’ to git at him. After ’bout an hour the other horses came back, an’ the stallion forgot about the boy an’ went off with them ’way back behind the hills; an’ Steve got the body an’ carried it home.’

“‘And what have they done to the brute?’ I inquired, with a fierce anger stirring in my veins.

“‘Well,’ answered Boniface, ‘this afternoon there’s a crowd goin’ out to ketch him an’ tie him up. If he’s too bad fur that, – an’ if I know anything about horses he’s jest gone mad, stark mad, – why, they’ll have to shoot him off-hand, to save their own necks.’

“‘I wonder if I’ll run any risk of meeting him?’ I queried rather anxiously. I had no weapon but my heavy walking-stick, and I had an almost sentimental regard for the integrity of my neck.

“‘Which way be you bound?’ inquired Boniface.

“‘For Blissville,’ I answered.

“‘Oh,’ said he, ‘you’re all right then. The horses are feedin’ out yonder to the no’th-east, an’ Blissville lays south.’

“It was with few misgivings that I now resumed my journey. In the tonic autumn air my spirits rose exultantly, and I walked with a brisk step, whistling and knocking off the golden tops of the hawk-bit with my cane. The country about Maybury is a high, rolling plateau, for the most part open pasture-ground, with here and there a shallow, wooded ravine, and here and there a terrace of loose bowlders with bramble-thickets growing between. I was soon beyond the cultivated fields, past the last of the fences. I had climbed one of those rocky terraces, and made a couple of hundred yards across the delightful breezy down, when, behind a low knoll, I caught sight of a group of horses quietly pasturing, and remembered with a qualm the morning’s tragedy. Could this, I asked myself anxiously, be the herd containing that mad stallion?

“I halted, and was about to retrace my steps unobtrusively, in the hope that I had escaped their notice. But it was too late. Two or three of the animals raised their heads and looked toward me. One in the group snorted with a peculiar half-whinny, at the sound of which my heart sank. Then I caught sight of one in the centre that seemed to be jumping up in the air off all four feet at once. The next moment this creature, a great black animal, appeared outside the group, plunging and biting at his flank. Two or three times he sprang into the air in that strange, spasmodic way I had already observed, and threw his head backward over his right shoulder with an indescribable gesture of menace and defiance. Then with a short, dreadful sound he darted toward me, open-mouthed.

“Up to this point I had stood my ground, eying the brute resolutely, with an appearance of fearlessness which I was very far from feeling. But now I saw that my only hope, and that a desperate one, lay in flight. I was accounted at college a first-rate sprinter, and now I ran my best. The two hundred yards that lay between me and the terrace I had just left must have been covered in not much more than twenty seconds. But as I reached the brow of the slope the mad brute was close on my heels.

“I had no time to check myself, and even less notion to do so. In fact, I fell, and rolled headlong down, dropping bruised and bewildered into a crevice between two bowlders. The next instant I saw the black mass of my pursuer dashing over me in a splendid leap. Before he could turn and seize me I had rolled farther into the crevice, and found that one of the rocks overhung so as to form a little narrow cave into which I could squeeze myself so far as to be quite beyond the animal’s reach.

“Never before or since have I discovered so unexpected and providential a refuge. The raving stallion came bounding and leaping up to the very door of my burrow, but I felt safe. He would roll back his lips, lay his ears flat to his head, spring straight into the air, and shriek through his wide, red nostrils his fury and his challenge. The latter I did not think it incumbent upon me to accept. I waived it in disdainful silence.

“For a time the brute kept up his boundings and those strange, proud jerkings of his head; but at length he actually tried to stretch his neck into my burrow, and reach me with his frightful naked teeth. This was a vain attempt; but I resented it, and picking up a stone which lay at hand, I struck him a heavy blow on the nose. This brought the blood from those cruel nostrils, and made him even, if possible, more furious in his rage; but he returned to his former demonstrations.

“It must have been for nearly an hour that I watched the mad creature’s antics from my den. The rest of the herd had approached, and were feeding indifferently about the foot of the terrace. From time to time my enemy would join them, and snatch a few restless mouthfuls of grass. But almost immediately he would return to his post at my door, and his vigilant watch was on me all the time.

“I was beginning to cast about somewhat anxiously for a way of escape from this imprisonment, when I saw the pasturing herd suddenly toss up their heads, and then go scurrying away across the down. My adversary saw this, too, and turned his attention away from me. I peered forth cautiously, and to my profound relief I observed a party of men, several carrying ropes and halters, and others armed with rifles, approaching below the terrace. One man walked a little ahead of the others, and held out a peck measure, in which he shook something which I presume to have been oats.

“The stallion eyed them sombrely for an instant; and then his mane rose like a crest, and his head went back with a shrill cry. In the self-same way as he had greeted my appearance he bounced into the air twice or thrice, and then he dashed upon the party.

“The man with the oats fell back with wonderful alacrity, and the fellows who carried halters seemed bent upon effacing themselves in the humblest manner possible. One tall, gray-shirted woodsman, however, stepped to the front, raised his rifle, and drew a bead upon the approaching fury, while two or three of the others held their shots in reserve. There was a moment of breathless suspense. Then the fine, thin note of the woodsman’s rifle rang out; and the stallion sprang aside with a shriek, and stumbled forward upon his knees. Almost instantly, however, he recovered himself, and rushed upon his opponents with undiminished ferocity. I held my breath. He was almost upon the party now. Then two more rifles flashed from the marksmen standing moveless in their tracks, and the mad brute rose straight up on his hind legs, and fell over backward, dead.

“I stepped out to welcome my rescuers, and detailed to them my adventures. They had been wondering who or what it was that the brute was laying siege to. There was so much, in fact, to talk about, and I found myself for the moment so important a figure, that I returned to Maybury for that evening, and there had to retell my story at least a score of times.”

“If it’s my turn now – and I suppose it is,” said Ranolf, “I can’t pretend to give you anything so blood-curdling as this story of Magnus’s; but I’ll do my little best to make an angry bull moose as interesting as a mad stallion. Take this down, O. M., as —

‘AN ADVENTURE WITH A BULL MOOSE.’

“I don’t know much about the lumber-camps; but I got this from a Restigouche lumberman, so of course it must be true.

“One day a woodsman, who had been on a long tramp prospecting for prime birch timber, rushed into a camp on the Restigouche with news that he had discovered a ‘yard’ of moose.

“A ‘yard’ it may here be explained, is an opening in the forest where a herd of moose has trampled down the snow and made its headquarters. The yard is always surrounded by young trees, upon whose succulent shoots the moose feed. It forms a striking scene – the animals lying about the space of trampled and discolored snow, while here and there a magnificently antlered bull towers above the rest, keeping watch; and here and there on the edge of the yard an animal is reaching aloft its long, prehensile lips to tear down its meal of green branches.

“Now, the news which the inspector brought into camp created an instant interest. Fresh meat was at a premium in the Restigouche Camp; and at the thought of moose-meat, which is a sort of beef idealized, every lumberman’s mouth began to water longingly. The boss was quite at one with the hands in this respect; wherefore it was not long before a hunt was organized.

“Only those men could take part who had snowshoes, for the snow was deep that season. So there was a small muster of five; but with those five went the blessings of the camp. Upon their success hung the hopes of all their hungry comrades.

“The wind, fortunately for the hunters, was blowing from the yard to the camp, so that it was not necessary to take a roundabout course. The expedition was led by the prospector, who was an enthusiastic hunter, and skilled in woodcraft.

“It was past midday as the yard was approached. The hunters separated, and closed in on the yard from all sides save that from which the wind was directly blowing. The leader, whose name was Story, had the longest way to go, in order that by the time he could get into position all the others might be ready and waiting.

“Presently an owl was heard to hoot twice. This was Story’s signal. The moose heard it too, and pricked up their ears; for the owls they were accustomed to hear hooted, as a rule, in the night-time. Then they heard the soft, hurried tramping of the snow-shoes, and the crackling of frosted twigs all about them, and huddled together, terrified, in the middle of their yard.

“The next moment five rifles blazed out upon them, and the hunters rushed in. Two of the creatures fell at the volley, and two more, fat young cows, were knifed by the nimble huntsmen; and the rest of the herd dashed wildly off, running up the wind, where they scented no danger.

“Now Story was in a great disgust. His shot had failed to kill. He had fired at the chief of the herd, a splendid bull, whose antlers he craved as a trophy. The bull was struck somewhere in the body, for he staggered; but instantly recovering, he had charged fiercely in the direction of the assault. Story had stepped behind a tree; and the mad beast, not detecting him, had continued his career through the woods, almost at right angles to the direction which was taken by the rest of the herd.

“Story gave chase at a run, loading as he went. The bull was already out of sight, but his track was ample guide. The hunter knew he had hit the animal hard, and looked for a speedy triumph.

“For an hour he continued his long trot, encouraged from time to time by the sight of blood upon the snow. The animal’s path led at last through a region of gullies and copses, and low, broad beech-trees. Suddenly, as Story was skirting the crest of a little ravine, from a thicket close ahead of him the great moose dashed out with a bellow, and charged upon him like lightning.

“The hunter had not time to check himself, but whipped the gun to his shoulder and took a snap-shot. Even at the same instant the snow gave way beneath his feet, and his shot flew wide as he rolled to the foot of the ravine.

“The animal was upon him before he could recover himself, and he thought his end was come. Dropping his gun, now useless, he drew his knife, and, just escaping one keen prong, he seized the antlers with one hand, while with the other he slashed at the animal’s neck. It was the depth and softness of the snow, with the confusion of bushes and roots beneath it, that saved him from being crushed at once.

“As the moose felt the knife in his neck he drew back, and threw up his head with violence, intending to trample his adversary with his terrible hoofs; but the neck of the moose has tremendous power, and as the hunter clung to his hold with desperate tenacity, knowing that his last chance depended on it, he was thrown high into the air. He came in contact violently with a beech-tree branch.

“One thinks quickly in such emergencies as these; or rather an instinct, drowsy at other times, wakes up and saves us the need of thought. Story flung both arms around the branch, and with a great sigh of thankfulness, and possibly an inward utterance of the same, swung himself out of harm’s way.

“When his opponent failed to fall, the moose was astonished. He turned round and round, and tore up the snow, and bellowed hoarsely in his rage. The thing was inexplicable.

“At last he looked upward, and saw the hunter in the branches. His indignation waxed fiercer than ever, and he made desperate efforts to pull down the branches by seizing and breaking off their tips.

“How the huntsman chuckled and derided him!

“After a time the mad brute grew more calm. Then, to Story’s supreme disgust, he lay down under the tree to starve his prisoner out. The hunter had no gun. The weather was severe. There was nothing to eat. There was no way of stealing off unobserved. To crown all, the wretched man recalled a number of incidents showing the implacable persistence of the wounded bulls of this species.

“For perhaps an hour the hunter waited, vainly hoping that this particular moose would prove less obstinate than his kind, or would get homesick for the rest of the herd, or would die of his inward wound.

“But nothing seemed farther from the animal’s intention than any one of these things. It was growing dark, and the shivering captive began to realize that he would have to spend the night in his tree.

“He tucked his knife back safely in its sheath, and undertook to warm himself a little.

“His snow-shoes he had taken off long before, and had tied them to a limb, knowing that if they should fall to the ground the moose would at once make mince-meat of them. Then he proceeded to climb about the tree with the utmost energy and agility, while the moose, who had risen promptly to his feet, looked on with the most obvious amazement.

“By this means Story soon got rid of his chill. Before it was quite dark he selected a safe and comparatively comfortable spot where two large branches forked, and tying himself securely to the limb with his long scarf, he tried to go to sleep. It was a profitless undertaking, and after an hour or two of faithful effort he gave it up. He was stiff, miserable, hungry, and half-frozen.

“It had grown so dark that he thought perhaps he might descend the other side of the tree, and slip away without the moose being any the wiser. With what he fancied perfect noiselessness, he tried it.

“He was almost down, when there was a bellow and a rush, and the animal was almost upon him. He escaped just by a hair’s-breadth, and swung nimbly back into his refuge. He had no stomach for another attempt of that sort. He began to calculate how long it would be before they would miss him in camp, and come to look for him.

“The prospect did not cheer him. Known as he was for a determined hunter, his comrades would go home without him, confident that he would turn up all right when he had bagged his game. If he was not back by morning they would perhaps think something had gone wrong, and set out to look for him.

“They would have to retrace their steps to the moose-yard, and then, picking up his trail from the yard, might be expected to rescue him about noon. By that time, he thought to himself miserably, he might be frozen stiff. He decided to do something! But what?

“At first he thought of cutting a branch, fastening his knife to the end of it, and stabbing his captor with the improvised harpoon. But the beech-branches were too thick and crooked to suit his idea. He did at last, however, succeed in splicing a sort of spear about five feet long; and when he had got the knife lashed to the end of it all his stock of twine was exhausted.

“The spear was pretty satisfactory, but he of course dared not throw it; and the moose showed no inclination to come where he could be effectually and neatly despatched. The hunter struck his harpoon into a limb, and set out to concoct another weapon.

“By this time the moon was up. The hunter tore a little strip from his shirt, wet it in his mouth, and rubbed it full of gunpowder. This made a fair bit of slow-match, which he folded several times longitudinally, and then inserted in the top of his powder-flask. To the short end, which he left protruding, he touched a match; and then he tossed the flask down in front of the moose.

“The sputtering of the slow-match for a moment disconcerted the animal, and he drew back. Then, as if ashamed of his weakness, he sprang upon the flask and trampled it fiercely under his feet. While he was indulging in this interesting performance the powder exploded with a bang, and the astounded animal sprang high into the air.

“But though badly startled, he was not frightened by any means. He was shocked and scorched, and a little torn in the fore legs; but this only made him the more deadly. In a paroxysm of pain and hatred he dashed under the tree, and rearing frantically struggled to reach the hunter.

“This was just what the wily woodsman desired. Lying flat on a branch almost within reach of the beast’s antlers, he reached down and dealt him a blow in the neck. A second thrust went deeper, and struck a more vital part, almost under the throat. The blood gushed out in a torrent, and the hunter congratulated himself that deliverance was near at hand.

“Presently the great animal stood still, and looked about him with a puzzled, anxious air. He felt his strength going from him, and could not understand it.

“Soon he began to sway from side to side, and had to brace his feet apart to keep from falling. At last he fell. Then the hunter, stretching himself, came down out of the tree and stood beside his noble and defeated antagonist.

“Story was too weak and cold and hungry to think of waiting to cut off the animal’s head and hide it from the bears. He slipped on his snow-shoes, found his gun, and started back in haste for the camp. Before daylight he had reached the ‘yard’; and there, to his intense delight, he met a party of his comrades who had set out in the night to look for him.”

DAN

“And now,” said I, “I’ll tell you of Dan’s great fight. It was fought before he came into my possession; that is, before my friend H – , going away to study in Germany, handed him over to me. It was just a few weeks before H – ’s departure, and we were setting out for a farewell trip to the wilderness together.

“As for Dan, he was not much to look at certainly; and I was prejudiced against him by the fact that he took up room in the canoe. To carry a great bulldog in a birch canoe was contrary to all my notions of the fitness of things. But H – had protested so vehemently against the idea of leaving him behind, and the dog had behaved with such sobriety and good sense when I took him out to try him in a choppy sea, that I yielded a reluctant consent.

“Our proposed route was through the chain of the Chiputneticook Lakes, down stream all the way, with no difficult water to contend against, and no bad rapids to shoot. We had two canoes, – that which bore H – and myself, and that in which our Indian carried the baggage; so that really it was not impossible to make room for the addition to our party, and Dan was formally enrolled a member.

“He took his place in the forward mid-section of my canoe, immediately behind his master, where he coiled himself up into a compact bundle. There he calmly ignored the wildest vagaries to which the lake waves could impel our little craft. This good seamanship of his, with his dignified manner toward myself and his adoring devotion to his master, gradually won my respect; and before we had been many days out we were on terms of mutual consideration. I ended with a cordial enjoyment of his company.

“I think I began by declaring that Dan was not much to look at. This was my first and biassed impression. But it must be modified by the acknowledgment that his splendid proportions and great strength were apparent to the most casual observer. In fact, he was a perfect specimen of his breed.