Around the Camp-fire

“On examination we found that a bullet had nicked the top of my shoulder, though not so deeply but that cold water and some strips of sticking-plaster went far toward giving relief from pain. But the muscular action of paddling caused the scratch to become inflamed; and so, when at about four in the afternoon we swept out on the smooth waters of the lake, I gave up the stern paddle to the professor, and played invalid a while in the bow.

“A light breeze, to which we hoisted our sail, took us pleasantly down the lake, and about half-past six we landed near the outlet. We tented just where Camp de Squatook stood a few days ago. Under the lulling influence of a supper of fresh fried trout, the savor of which mixed deliciously with the wholesome scent of the pines, we concluded that perhaps by this time our enemies would have given up the pursuit, disgusted by their past failure and the damage done to their canoe.

“Nevertheless, we resolved to take thorough precautions, lest our adversaries should cross the head of the lake and come upon us by night.

“We built a huge fire so that it shone upon the landing-place, and lighted up every way of approach by water. The tent stood out in the full glare. To the rear and a little to one side, beyond the limits of the grove, in the densest part of the thicket, we fixed ourselves a snug and secret couch, whence we could command a view of the whole surroundings.

“Close by we arranged a pile of bark, with kindlings and dry balsamic pine-chips, such as we could urge into a sudden blaze in case of any emergency. Immediately behind us was the water, and from that side we felt that we were safe so long as that glare of firelight could be maintained.

“We fixed up the camp to look natural and secure, hung our wet clothes to dry on the cheep lahquah-gan,1 closed the tent-door for the night to keep out the mosquitoes, and retired, not dissatisfied, to our covert.

“It was a dark and almost starless night, with a soft, rainy wind soughing in the pine-tops, and making the ‘Big Squatook’ wash restlessly all down her pebbled beaches. As we drew our weapons close to us, and stretched ourselves luxuriously in our blankets, we could not forbear a low laugh at a certain relish the situation held for us. The professor, however, suddenly became serious; and he declared, ‘But this lark’s in the soberest kind of earnest, anyway; and we mustn’t be letting ourselves tumble to sleep!’

“My shoulder gave an admonitory twinge, and I cordially acquiesced.

“Just then a far-off howl of hideous laughter, ending in a sob of distress, came down the night wind, making our flesh creep uncomfortably.

“‘Is that what the Indians call Gluskâp’s Hunting-dogs?’ whispered the professor.

“‘Not by any means!’ I answered under my breath.

“‘Well, it ought to be,’ returned the professor.

“I replied that the voice, in my opinion, came from the dangerous Northern panther, or ‘Indian devil.’

“These animals, I went on to explain for H – ’s comfort, were growing yearly more numerous in the Squatook regions, owing to the fact that the caribou, their favorite prey, were being driven hither from the south counties and from Nova Scotia.

“Just then the cry was repeated, this time a little nearer; and the professor began to inquire whether it was Indian or Indian devil about which we should have most call to concern ourselves. His hope, but half-expressed, was plainly for a ‘whack at both.’

“I assured him that so long as the Indian devil kept up his serenading we had little need to be troubled; but should the scent of our fried trout be blown to his nostrils, and divert his mind from thoughts of love to war, then would it behoove us to be circumspect.

“As we talked on thus in an undertone which was half-drowned by the washing of the waves, the panther’s cry was heard much nearer than before; and it was not again repeated. This put us sharply on our guard.

“Hour after hour passed, till we began to find it hard to keep awake. Only the weirdness of the place, the strange noises which stole towards us from the depths of the forest, dying out within a radius of a couple of hundred yards from the firelight, together with our anxiety concerning the movements of the panther, kept us from falling asleep.

“The professor told some stories of the skill of Western Indians in creeping upon guarded posts, and I retorted with examples of the cunning and ferocity of these Northern Indian devils.

“Once we were started into renewed vigilance by what seemed like a scratching or clawing on the bark of some tree near at hand; but we heard no more of it. When, as near as we could guess, it must have been well past midnight, we began to be concerned at the lowness of our fire. It had fallen to a mere red glow, lighting up a circle of not more than twenty yards around the camp. As for our covert, it was now sunk in the outer darkness.

“We considered the needs and risks of replenishing the fire, and concluded that the risks were so far greater than the needs, that our better plan was to stay where we were till morning.

“If our enemies were upon our tracks, then for either of us to approach the light would be to betray our stratagem, besides furnishing a fair and convenient target; while we felt tolerably sure that the panther was in some not distant tree, waiting to drop, according to his pleasant custom, upon any one that should come within his reach. These considerations made us once more satisfactorily wakeful, and with straining our sight through the blackness our nerves got painfully on the stretch.

“A bird stirred in the twigs above us, and the professor whispered, ‘What’s that?’

“Then there was a trailing rustle of the dry leaves near our feet; and, with a sharp click and a jump of the pulse, I brought my gun to full cock.

“But two little points of green light close together, which met my eyes for an instant, told me that it was only a wood-mouse which we heard scurrying away.

“The professor whispered, ‘What was it disturbed the mouse? He seemed in a hurry about something when he ran against us that way.’

“This was a point, and we weighed it. We were just about to hazard some guess, allowing for an owl, or polecat, or other night prowler, when the professor gripped my arm sharply, and whispered, ‘Look!’

“Just on the outermost verge of the dim circle, I could detect a human figure, creeping like a snake toward the rear corner of the tent.

“‘Shall we shoot – wound him?’ whispered the professor breathlessly.

“‘No; wait!’ I answered. ‘Look out for the other fellow. We’ll capture them both and take away their guns.’

“The words were scarce out of my mouth when there was a sort of mad rush, and a struggle, apparently close beside us, followed by an agonized shriek. We sprang to our feet in horror, and at once set our little beacon ablaze.

“There, not twenty yards off, beneath a tree, lay a twitching human form. Upon his breast crouched the Indian devil, with its jaws buried in his throat.

“With a cry we sprang to the rescue, and the beast, half-cowed by the sudden blaze, seemed at first disposed to slink off; but, changing its purpose, it set its claws deeper into its prey, and faced us with an angry snarl.

“The grove all around was now as bright as day. The professor rushed straight upon the beast; but for myself, turning at the moment to draw my sheath-knife, I caught sight of the other Indian, whom we had forgotten, in the act of deliberately drawing a bead upon me.

“He stood erect, close by the tent, his pig-eyed countenance lighted up by the red glare. I had just time to drop flat upon the ground, ere a report rang out, and a bullet went spat into a tree-trunk close above me. I returned the shot at once from where I lay, and my assailant fell.

“Without pausing to notice more, I turned to my companion’s assistance. He had just fired one charge into the animal, and then drawn his knife, afraid to fire a second time lest his shot should strike the Indian.

“As I reached his side the Indian devil sprang; but the ball had struck a vital spot, and snarling madly it fell together in a heap, while again and yet again went the professor’s knife between its shoulders right up to the hilt.

“As the dead brute stiffened out its sinewy length, we dragged it one side and made haste to examine its victim. The poor wretch proved to be Tobin; and we found him stark dead, his throat most hideously mangled, and his neck broken.

“Sickened at the sight we turned away. The other Indian we found still lying where he had fallen, with his right arm badly shattered by my heavy charge of buck-shot. After brightening up the fire we proceeded to dress his wounds. At this work we had small skill, and dawn broke before we got it accomplished.

“Then, digging with our paddles a grave in a sandy spot on the shore, we buried the Indian devil’s victim, and set out with our sullen prisoner for the settlements. Paddling almost night and day, we reached Détour du Lac, and there we delivered up our captive to the combined cares of the doctor and the village constable.

“As we afterwards learned, the doctor’s care proved effectual; but that of the constable was so much less so, that the villain escaped before he could be brought to justice.”

“Truly you keep your good wine for the last, Stranion,” said Ranolf.

“Can Sam do as well, I wonder?” inquired Queerman.

“No, he can’t!” said Sam positively. “But he can give you something humorsome, at least, to relieve this tragic strain. It’s about a bear, of course. I’m very glad my bears hold out so well. This story is called, —

‘BRUIN’S BOXING-MATCH.’

“It was a dreamy, sun-drenched September afternoon. The wide, shallow river was rippling with a mellow noise over its golden pebbles. Back from the river, upon both banks, the yellow grain-fields and blue-green patches of turnips slanted gently to the foot of the wooded hills. A little distance down stream stood two horses, fetlock-deep in the water, drinking.

“Near the top of the bank, where the gravel had thinned off into yellow sand, and the sand was beginning to bristle with the scrubby bushes of the sand-plum, lay the trunk of an ancient oak-tree. In the effort to split this gnarled and seasoned timber, Jake Simmons and I were expending the utmost of our energies. Our axes had proved unequal to the enterprise, so we had been at last compelled to call in the aid of a heavy mall and hardwood wedges.

“With the axes we had accomplished a slight split in one end of the prostrate giant. An axe-blade held this open while we inserted a hardwood wedge, which we drove home with repeated blows of the mall till the crack was widened, whereupon, of course, the axe dropped out.

“The mall – a huge, long-handled mallet, so heavy as to require both hands to wield it – was made of the sawed-off end of a small oak log, and was bound around with two hoops of wrought iron to keep it from splitting. This implement was wielded by Jake, with a skill born of years in the backwoods.

“Suddenly, as Jake was delivering a tremendous blow on the head of the wedge, the mall flew off its handle, and pounded down the bank, making the sand and gravel fly in a way that bore eloquent witness to Jake’s vigor. The sinewy old woodsman toppled over, and, losing his balance, sat down in a thicket of sand-plums.

“Of course I laughed, and so did Jake; but our temperate mirth quieted down, and Jake, picking himself up out of the sand-plums, went to re-capture the errant mall. As he set it down on the timber, and proceeded to refit the handle to it, he was all at once quite overcome with merriment. He laughed and laughed, not loudly, but with convulsive inward spasms, till I began to feel indignant at him. When mirth is not contagious, it is always exasperating. Presently he sat down on the log and gasped, holding his sides.

“‘Don’t be such an old fool, Jake,’ said I rudely; at which he began to laugh again, with the intolerable relish of one who holds the monopoly of a joke.

“‘I don’t see anything so excruciatingly funny,’ I grumbled, ‘in the head flying off of an old mall, and a long-legged old idiot sitting down hard in the sand-plum patch. That mall might just as well as not have hit me on the head, and maybe you’d have called that the best joke of the season.’

“‘Bless your sober soul!’ answered Jake, ‘it ain’t that I’m laughing at.’

“I was not going to give him the satisfaction of asking him for his story, so I proceeded to fix a new wedge, and hammer it in with my axe. Jake was too full of his reminiscence to be chilled by my apparent lack of interest. Presently he drew out a short pipe, filled it with tobacco, and remarked —

“‘When I picked up that there mall-head, I was reminded of something I saw once up in the Madawaska woods that struck me as just about the funniest I ever heard tell of. I ’most died laughing over it at the time, and whenever I think of it even now it breaks me all up.’

“Here he paused and eyed me.

“‘But I don’t believe you’d see anything funny in it, because you didn’t see it,’ he continued in his slow and drawling tones ‘so I reckon I won’t bother telling you.’

“Then he picked up the handle of the mall as if to resume work.

“I still kept silence, resolved not to ask for the story. Jake was full of anecdotes picked up in the lumbering-camps; and though he was a good workman, he would gladly stop any time to smoke his pipe, or to tell a story.

“But he kept chuckling over his own thoughts until I couldn’t do a stroke of work. I saw I had to give in, and I surrendered.

“‘Oh, go along and let’s have it!’ said I, dropping the axe, and seating myself on the log in an attitude of most inviting attention.

“This encouragement was what Jake was waiting for.

“‘Did you ever see a bear box?’ he inquired. I had seen some performances of that sort; but as Jake took it for granted I hadn’t, and didn’t wait for a reply, I refrained from saying so.

“‘Well, a bear can box some, now I tell you. But I’ve seen one clean knocked out by an old mall without a handle, just like this one here; and there wasn’t any man at the end of it either.’

“Here Jake paused to indulge in a prolonged chuckle as the scene unrolled itself anew before his mind’s eye.

“‘It happened this way: A couple of us were splitting slabs in the Madawaska woods along in the fall, when, all of a sudden, the head of the mall flew off, as this ’ere one did. Bill, however, – Bill Goodin was the name of the fellow with me, – wasn’t so lucky as you were in getting out of the way. The mall struck a tree, glanced, and took Bill on the side of the knee. It keeled him over so he couldn’t do any more work that day, and I had to help him back to the camp. Before we left, I took a bit of codline out of my pocket, ran it through the eye, and strung the mall up to a branch so it would be easier to find when I wanted it.

“‘It was maybe a week before I went for that mall, – a little more than a week, I should say; and then, it being of a Sunday afternoon, when there was no work to do, and Bill’s leg being so much better that he could hobble alone, he and I thought we’d stroll over to where we’d been splitting, and bring the mall in to camp.

“‘When we got pretty near the place, and could see through the trees the mall hanging there where we had left it, Bill all of a sudden grabbed me sharp by the arm, and whispered, “Keep still!”

“‘“What is it?” said I, under my breath, looking all around.

“‘“Use your eyes if you’ve got any,” said he; and I stared through the branches in the direction he was looking. But there was a trunk in the way. As soon as I moved my head a bit, I saw what he was watching. There was a fine young bear sitting back on his haunches, and looking at the mall as if he didn’t know what to make of it. Probably that bear had once been hurt in a trap, and so had grown suspicious. That there mall hanging from the limb of a tree was something different from anything he’d ever seen before. Wondering what he was going to do, we crept a little nearer, without makin’ any noise, and crouched down behind a spruce bush.

“‘The bear was maybe a couple of yards from the mall, and watching it as if he thought it might get down any moment and come at him. A little gust of wind came through the trees and set the mall swinging a bit. He didn’t like this, and backed off a few feet. The mall swung some more, and he drew off still farther; and as soon as it was quite still again, he sidled around it at a prudent distance, and investigated it from the other side of the tree.

“‘“The blame fool is scared of it,” whispered Bill scornfully; “let’s fling a rock at him!”

“‘“No,” said I, knowing bears pretty well; “let’s wait and see what he’s going to do.”

“‘Well, when the mall had been pretty still for a minute or two, the bear appeared to make up his mind it didn’t amount to much after all; he came right close up to it as bold as you like, and pawed it kind of inquiringly. The mall swung away; and being hung short, it came back quick, and took the bear a smart rap on the nose.

“‘Bill and I both snickered, but the bear didn’t hear us. He was mad right off, and with a snort he hit the mall a pretty good cuff; back it came like greased lightning, and took him again square on the snout with a whack that must have made him just see stars.

“‘Bill and I could hardly hold ourselves; but even if we had laughed right out I don’t believe that bear would have noticed us, he was so mad. You know a bear’s snout is mighty tender. Well, he grunted and snorted, and rooted around in the leaves a bit, and then went back at the mall as if he was just going to knock it into the other side of to-morrow. He stood up to it, and he did hit it so hard that it seemed to disappear for half a second. It swung right over the limb; and, while he was looking for it, it came down on the top of his head. Great Scott! how he roared! And then, scratching his head with one paw, he went at it again with the other, and hit it just the same way he’d hit it before. I tell you, Bill and I pretty near burst as we saw that mall fly over the limb again and come down on the top of his head just like the first time. You’d have thought it would have cracked his skull; but a bear’s head is as hard as they make them.

“‘This time the bear, after rubbing his head and his snout, and rooting some more in the leaves, sat back and seemed to consider. In a second or two he went up to the mall, and tried to take hold of it with one paw; of course it slipped right away, and you’d have thought it was alive to see the sharp way it dodged back and caught him again on the nose. It wasn’t much of a whack this time, but that nose was tender enough then! And the bear got desperate. He grabbed for the mall with both paws; and that way, of course, he got it. With one pull he snapped the codline, and the victory was his.

“‘After tumbling the mall about for a while, trying to chew it and claw it to pieces, and getting nothing to show for his labor, he appeared absolutely disgusted. He sat down and glared at the bit of iron-bound oak lying so innocent in the leaves, and kept feeling at his snout in a puzzled sort of way. Then all of a sudden he gave it up as a bad job, and ambled off into the woods in a hurry as if he had just remembered something.’”

This story had called forth a running commentary of appreciative chuckling. When it ended, every one was in a merry humor.

“I think,” remarked Queerman, “that I, too, have kept one of my best stories for the last. At least, it seems the best to me; and I hope you fellows won’t think it the worst, anyway.”

“We’ll tell you about that after we hear it,” said Magnus.

“Well, here goes,” continued Queerman. “My title is —

‘THE RAFT RIVALS.’

“The last log of Thériault’s ‘drive,’ not counting a few sticks hopelessly ‘hung up’ on far-off Squatook Shoals, had been captured in the amber eddies of the Lower Basin below Grand Falls, and had been safely pinned into the great raft which was just about to start on its leisurely voyage down the river to the shrieking saws of Fredericton.

“‘This ’ere’s as purty a site fur pinnin’ up a raft as ever I sot eyes on!” remarked Ben Smithers, thrusting his hand into his gray-blue homespun breeches for his fig of ‘black-jack.’

“Ben was sitting on a rock near the water’s edge. No one made answer to his remark, which was perhaps regarded as too obvious to call for comment. Presently a large black dog, as if unwilling that any grain of wisdom should drop from his master’s lips unheeded, thrust his head into Ben’s lap, and uttered a short bark.

“For perhaps half an hour Ben Smithers and his fellows sat on the shore or lounged about the raft, smoking and whittling, and not one complained of the delay. The rafts which Thériault had already despatched down the river, each requiring two or three hands to navigate it through the rapids, had thinned the numbers of the drive down to not more than ten men, all of whom were bound for Fredericton on this very raft.

“Presently one of the hands took the pipe from his mouth, tapped it gently on a log to remove the ashes, and remarked, ‘Here they be!’

“A wagon was descending the precipitous road which led from the unseen village to the beach. An apprehensive looking horse between the shafts hung back warily upon the breeching, and a red-shirted lumberman clung doggedly to one of the wheels. At the anxious horse’s head trudged a boy; and behind or beside the wagon, as pleased her fancy, there danced a five-year-old child, her long yellow hair and bright pink frock making her look like some strange kind of butterfly.

“As their eyes fell on the little creature a grin of rough tenderness flashed out on the faces of the gang. Little Mame Thériault, who came with this wagon-load of supplies for the gang, and who was to accompany the raft down the river, at once became the pet of the drive. Her father, a young widower, took her wherever it was possible, and her baby hands were dispensers of gentleness throughout the roughest gangs.

“Only Jake, the dog, refused his tribute of homage. Jake’s heart was sore within him, for he was jealous of little Mame.

“Jake was a dog among ten thousand. He possessed countless accomplishments, and was ever athirst to learn more. His intelligence was such that ‘cute as Jake’ had become a current phrase of compliment with Ben Smithers and his comrades. Wholly devoted to his master, he was at the same time hail-fellow-well-met with all hands.

“Until Mame’s appearance on the scene, Jake had reigned without a rival. Now it was quite different. The hands, though as respectful as ever, seemed strangely forgetful of his presence at times; and with Ben, when Mame was by, his place had become secondary, and all his eager affection seemed to go as a matter of course. Ordinarily Jake would have liked well to make a playmate of Mame; but as it was – never!

“The whole party had got aboard, and the raft was shoved off into the current. In the middle of the structure stood a rough, temporary shanty of hemlock slabs, with an elbow of rusted stovepipe projecting through the roof. Within this shelter the cook presided, and two or three bunks gave accommodation for part of the gang. The others, including of course Mame and her father, looked to more luxurious sleeping quarters in the settlements along shore.

“Mame was enchanted with her surroundings, – with the shores slipping smoothly past, with the ripples washing up between the logs, with the dashes of spray over the windward edges of the raft, with the steersmen tugging on the great sweeps, and last, but by no means least, with the wide sheets of glossy gingerbread which the cook in his little house was producing for her particular gratification.

“She had never before experienced the delight of a raft voyage. She skipped from side to side on her swift but unsteady little feet, and all hands were kept anxiously alert to prevent her from falling into the water.

“Several times she made playful advances to the big dog, throwing herself down on the logs beside him, and scattering her yellow curls over his black and crinkly coat; but Jake, after a reluctant wagging of his tail, as if to indicate that his action was based on principle, and not on any ill-will toward herself, invariably got up and made a reserved withdrawal to some remoter corner of the raft. Thériault noticed this, as he had done on previous occasions, and it seemed to vex him.