Grit A-Plenty

Hunters remove the skins from the animals whole and draw them tightly over the board with the fleshy side of the pelt on the outside. It is then scraped with a knife until all adhesions of flesh and fat are removed, and the board, with the skin still upon it, is hung from the ceiling until the pelt is thoroughly dried. When properly cured and in condition for packing, it is removed from the board and placed with other pelts, as they accumulate, in a clean bag, which is usually suspended from a rafter, where neither moisture nor animals can attack it.

Pelts dry quickly, and therefore comparatively few boards, assorted to suit the size and form of the various animals, are sufficient for the hunter’s purpose.

It was discovered that Thomas had left in the tilt an ample supply for his own use, but now both Indian Jake and David must be equipped.

“We’ll be needin’ a few more,” said Indian Jake, “and we better make ’em while we has time. I’ll cut two or three dry butts, and split ’em, and whenever we have time we can work ’em down.”

“I’ll go along and help,” David volunteered, for he and Andy had finished their dish-washing, “but there’ll be no need o’ your comin’, Andy. You can ’bide here in th’ tilt and rest up.”

“I’m rested,” declared Andy, resenting the imputation that he was in greater need of rest than David. “I’ll take my gun and see if there’s any pa’tridges around. They’ll go fine for supper, now, an’ I finds any.”

“They will that,” assented Indian Jake. “And see, now, that you bring some back.”

“I’ll do my best,” said Andy, proudly taking down his gun, and slinging his ammunition bag over his shoulder. “We’ll have pa’tridges for supper, whatever.”

Andy had hunted partridges and rabbits, and such small game as could be found in the woods near The Jug, since he was nine years old and strong enough to hold a gun to his shoulder. His father gave him an old trade gun—a muzzle-loading piece—when he was ten years of age. It was a gun which had been cut down because of a defect near the muzzle, and with its shortened barrel was quite light enough for him to aim with ease. Later on Thomas had permitted him to use the rifle which he now carried, and he had become an excellent rifle shot. The lads of The Labrador begin early to learn their trade, and to love it, too.

It was no new experience, therefore, for Andy to be alone in the woods, and as he stole quietly through the trees he felt a deal of confidence in his ability as a hunter and that he should make good his boast to bag enough partridges for supper.

A little distance from the tilt he turned down to the lake shore, lined here by scrubby willow brush, in the hope of finding willow ptarmigans, white grouse of the North, feeding upon the tender ends of the willows. But unrewarded he finally turned back again into the deeper spruce woods, and had gone but a little way when a small flock of spruce grouse rose from the ground and, unconscious of danger and quite fearless, took refuge in a tree. At easy range Andy had no difficulty in clipping the heads from five of the birds with his rifle bullets before the remaining ones took flight.

“I knew I’d get un!” exclaimed Andy exultantly, gathering up the game. “Now we’ll have a fine supper.”

He drew a stout buckskin thong from his pocket, and at intervals of about two inches made five slip nooses. Through each of these he passed the legs of a bird, and drawing tight the ends of the thong, made them secure. Tying the thong firmly around his waist, his game thus carried made no burden, and left his hands free.

“Now,” said he, “I’ll see what Seal Lake looks like.”

A little to the right of where Andy had killed the partridges rose a naked, rocky hill, and turning toward it he quickly began ascending. A hundred feet up its side he passed the last scrubby spruce tree. On the central plateau of Labrador the tree line seldom rises far above the base of the hills. It was a steep, rocky climb, but Andy was accustomed to scrambling over rocks, and in a few minutes he had gained the summit.

Turning toward the lake he discovered its far-reaching waters extending a full half-hundred miles to the westward. Its extreme end was hidden in the boundless forest which, punctured by rocky, snow-clad hills, rolled away as far as his eye could reach. For a considerable distance to the northward he could trace, like a silver thread, the sparkling waters of the Nascaupee. To the southeast lay piled in massive grandeur an array of great white mountains. On the sides of some of them high mica cliffs reflected the sun like disks of burnished silver.

Near by, to the south, a curl of smoke rose above the forest green, and this he knew to be the tilt. Eastward from the tilt splotches of water could be discerned, where the little river ran down to join Seal Lake.

Andy was used to wild nature, but this provided an element of romance new to him. Here at his feet, in all its silent and magnificent grandeur, stretched the great primordial wilderness which had been the scene of his father’s exploits. This, too, was the scene of strange, weird tales of stirring adventures to which he had listened so often. Here men had fought wild beasts. Here men had starved, and here had been enacted heroic deeds, the narrative of which never failed to thrill him. Was he destined to take part in like adventures, and like deeds of heroism?

He was awed by the immensity of the solitudes. A lump came into his throat and tears into his eyes, as he looked away over the vast silence to the horizon. This was God’s land, just as God had made it. No man lived here, or had ever lived here. There was no human habitation within the limitless boundaries of these rolling miles of forest and mountain, save the little tilt from which the curl of smoke was rising, and no other human beings than himself and David and Indian Jake.

Then there came upon Andy a realization of his own smallness and insignificance, and a wave of fear swept over his heart. Here in this boundless wilderness he was to face the rigors of a long, sub-arctic winter, with all its privations and hardships, cut off from all communication with the greater world outside. For many, many months he would have no word from his father or Margaret or Jamie or Doctor Joe, or know how they fared, or whether the mist in Jamie’s eyes was thickening or no. It was not strange then if Andy experienced a sudden longing for home and a touch of homesickness.

But Andy was brave and full of courage, and presently throwing back his head, he laughed, to drive away the fear and the loneliness.

“Huh!” he said, “there’s nothin’ to be scared of. Pop says th’ Lard’ll take care of us, and we does our best t’ take care of ourselves. There’s fur here, and Davy and I must get un, t’ cure Jamie’s eyes, and we will get un, whatever. I’ll have plenty o’ grit, and a stout heart like a man’s, and ’twon’t be so long when we goes home again.”

With this he set out down the hill. His descent was on the opposite side from that which he had ascended, and he came upon steep, rocky cliffs that he must needs circumvent; and so he was picking his way, looking only to his steps and giving too little heed to other matters, when suddenly, as he rounded the last high ledge above the timber line, he was startled by a savage growl. And there, in the edge of the woods, and so near that Andy barely escaped colliding with it, was a great black bear. The animal, no less surprised at Andy’s sudden appearance around the ledge than was Andy at meeting the bear, rose upon its haunches, assuming a distinctly belligerent attitude.

Instinctively Andy sprang aside, and under cover of the trees. The bear, content to be unmolested, made no attempt to follow. Black bears attack only when protecting their young, when wounded, or when driven to bay. Under other conditions they are overwilling to seek safety in retreat.

This bear was no exception to the rule. He had, as yet, no quarrel with Andy. His sole object in displaying teeth and claws was self-protection. So long as Andy evinced no intention of injuring him, he was well content to let Andy go his way, while he went his own.

Perceiving that the bear was not following him, Andy quickly turned about to discover that it had also turned about, and was slowly, and with dignity, retreating.

Then it occurred to Andy that he could never return to the tilt and tell David and Indian Jake that he had encountered a bear and permitted it to escape without ever firing a shot. Indian Jake would gibe him and David would think him a coward, and he would be a coward! He would never be able to face the world again without an inner sense of shame at his cowardice, if he permitted fear to overcome his duty as a hunter! But he was not afraid! He had simply been surprised and startled! At this season the bear would be in prime condition. Its meat was good to eat and its skin was valuable, and no valuable skin must escape.

These thoughts flashed through Andy’s mind in the instant that he realized that the bear had turned about and was passing out of range, and without further hesitation he raised his rifle and fired.

The bullet, not well directed, struck the animal in the flank. With a growl it swung around and began biting at the wound. A second bullet grazed its ear, and Andy, in excitement, permitted the third to go wide of its mark.

The bear, now thoroughly aroused and angered, charged directly at Andy. There were two cartridges remaining in the rifle, and Andy was immediately aware that those two cartridges must be effectively placed. He must kill the bear, or the bear would kill him, for there is no middle ground of compromise with a wounded bear.

There was small time for planning his course of action, and Andy made no plans, but permitted instinct to guide him. He sprang behind a convenient tree, and with the assistance of the tree to steady his aim, sent another bullet at the approaching animal. The shot took effect, but served to retard the bear’s advance for only a moment. Then Andy fired the remaining cartridge. It went wild, and the bear, bellowing with rage, rushed at its enemy and tormentor.

IX

THE STEALTHY MENACE OF THE TRAIL

THERE were cartridges enough in Andy’s bag, but he had no time now to reload, and dropping the rifle he seized the low hanging limb of a tamarack tree, swung himself up, and clambered to a limb above barely in time to escape a stroke of the bear’s powerful paw.

Then it was that Andy remembered that bears can climb quite as well as men, and this wounded and blood-bespattered bear proved himself an excellent climber indeed. Up the tree he came, with an agility that was alarming, and Andy, now thoroughly frightened, slid out upon the limb upon which he was perched, to escape the long reach of the great paw.

Andy was cornered. He was certain that death awaited him. In some degree his mind became dulled and paralyzed with the thought. In a disconnected way he wondered whether the bear would tear him badly, or be content to kill him and leave his body for foxes and wolves to devour. In that moment he was not greatly concerned about it. He was little more interested in it than he would have been in tomorrow’s weather.

But the instinct of self-preservation never becomes extinct so long as life remains, and acting upon that instinct rather than upon any definite plan Andy slid farther out upon the limb. As the bear followed he continued to slide, when of a sudden the supple ends of the limb bent beneath his weight, he lost his grip, and went tumbling to the ground, leaving the baffled and astounded bear upon the limb.

Andy was on his feet in an instant. With the knowledge that he was at least temporarily out of reach of the creature and its terrible claws, his mind awoke with new hope of escape.

His rifle lay within reach, and seizing it he hurriedly jammed a cartridge into the magazine, threw the lever back, drew it forward again with a click, and was in time to place the muzzle of the rifle almost against the bear’s body, over its heart, as it descended, backing down the tree trunk.

There was a report, the bear loosed his hold, and fell in a heap upon the ground. Andy was safe, and realizing the fact, his strength left him, and he stood, trembling, and so weak that for a little he could scarce move.

A half hour later when Andy appeared at the tilt he had nearly regained his usual composure. David and Indian Jake were busy near the door splitting slabs from dry spruce butts, and looking up Indian Jake asked, jocularly:

“Where be th’ pa’tridges we’re goin’ to have for supper? I suppose you got a fine lot of ’em? I never was so hungry for pa’tridges in my life.”

“Here they be,” replied Andy, lifting the skirts of his adiky and displaying the five birds tied to his belt.

“You did get un, now, didn’t you?” said Indian Jake.

“Andy’s a rare good pa’tridge hunter,” David asserted, resenting Indian Jake’s implication that he might not be. “He knows how t’ find th’ birds when they’re about, and he knows how t’ shoot un, too.”

“And this ain’t all th’ game I’m gettin’,” said Andy, who had stood with fine unconcern, gloating in the surprise he had in store for them. “I killed a bear back here by th’ hill. We better go and skin he, an’ bring in th’ meat, I’m thinkin’!”

“A bear!” exclaimed David and Indian Jake incredulously.

“Aye,” said Andy, “and a fine big un, too. He’s prime, and has a rare good skin.”

There was no doubt that Andy was in earnest, and Indian Jake and David lost no time in securing their rifles and following him as he led them proudly back to the scene of his encounter.

The bear was, as Andy had declared, fine and fat, with a glossy, well-furred pelt. And, while they removed the pelt from the carcass, and dressed and cut the meat into convenient pieces for carrying back to the tilt, Indian Jake and David must needs hear the story of Andy’s adventure in detail. And Indian Jake, who took things for granted, and rarely complimented any one, praised Andy’s courage, and David declared no one could have done better “in such a tight fix,” and Andy was quite swelled up with pride, and glad of the adventure, now that it had ended so happily.

Bear steak was a rarer treat than boiled spruce partridge, and Indian Jake quite forgot his earlier longing for a partridge supper. Indian Jake had indeed never been in such good humor. He declared that he had never eaten finer bear’s meat, and that no one could wish for a better meal, and the boys quite heartily agreed with him. And when they were through eating, and he had lighted his pipe, Indian Jake told them stories of Indian hunters who had lived and had their adventures in these very forests where they were camped. It was a rare evening, that first evening in the tilt, and one to be remembered.

Geese were not nearly so plentiful as they had hoped. The larger flocks had already passed to the southward, for winter was near at hand, and only small, belated flocks of stragglers remained. Nevertheless, by hard, persistent hunting, seven geese and twelve ducks were bagged during the succeeding week, before the last goose and duck to be seen until spring returned, had disappeared.

The weather was cold enough now to keep the bear’s meat and birds well frozen. Thus they would remain sweet and good until needed, and it was pleasant and safe to have an ample supply of fresh meat to draw upon as required.

The trail along which David and Andy were to set their traps extended eastward through the forest, and on the southern side of the small river at the mouth of which the Narrows tilt was situated, to another tilt on the shores of Namaycush Lake, a distance of twenty-five miles. Midway between the Narrows and Namaycush Lake tilts was another, known to the hunters as the “Halfway tilt.” From the Namaycush Lake tilt the trail swung out through the forest, circuited a great open marsh, and returned again to the tilt. From this point it followed westward along the northern bank of the river, turned in at the Halfway tilt, and thence continued westward on the northern side of the river, to return to the Narrows tilt again.

The entire length of the trail was about sixty miles, and the distance from tilt to tilt constituted a day’s work. Thus, setting out from the Narrows tilt on Monday morning, they would stop that night in the Halfway tilt, Tuesday and Wednesday nights in the Namaycush Lake tilt, Thursday night again at the Halfway tilt, and reach the Narrows tilt on Friday night, to remain there until Monday morning. This gave them Saturday and Sunday for rest, and to make necessary repairs to clothing and equipment. It also permitted an allowance for delay in case of severe storms.

Indian Jake’s trail took a northerly direction from the Narrows tilt, and with tilts at similar intervals made a wide circuit, returning, as did the other trail, to the Narrows tilt. Thus it was arranged that each week Indian Jake and the boys should spend the period from Friday evening until Monday morning together.

It was the middle of October when they awoke one morning to hear the wind howling and shrieking outside. Upon opening the tilt door David was met by a cloud of swirling, drifting snow, and when he went to the river for a kettle of water he found it necessary to use his ax to cut a water hole through the ice. For three days and nights the storm raged over the wilderness, and when at length it passed, a new, intense, penetrating cold had settled upon the land. The long Labrador winter had come.

“Now,” said Indian Jake, “it’s time to get the traps set and the trails shaped up.”

Two long Indian toboggans, or “flat sleds,” as they called them, were leaning against the tilt. A supply of provisions and their sleeping bags were lashed securely upon these, and in the cold, frosty dawn of a Monday morning Indian Jake, hauling one, set out to the northward, and with David hauling the other, the two boys crossed the little river upon its hard frozen surface and plunged into the forest to the eastward, and the tedious rounds of the long white trail were begun.

The first journey of the season over a trail is always hard, for there is no hope that the next trap may hold a valuable pelt. So it was with David and Andy, though the novelty of the experience kept them to some extent buoyed and interested. But the work was hard, nevertheless. So far as possible they used the stumps that Thomas had used the previous year for their marten traps, but still there was the necessity of cutting and trimming new stumps. The snowshoeing, too, was far from good, for in the shelter of the trees the snow was soft, and they sank half way to their knees at every step. Out on the open marshes, however, where the wind had packed the snow firmly, they walked with ease. Here it was, in open, wind-swept regions, that they set their fox traps.

The silence was appalling. Down at The Jug there was always at least the howling and snarling of the dogs to break the quiet, when ice in winter throttled the otherwise unceasing song of Roaring Brook. But here in the wilderness no sound disturbed the monotonous stillness, save the winter wind soughing through the tree tops. It was a new world to the lads, and the world that they had known seemed far, far away.

Withal, that first week was a trying one, and when, late on Friday evening they glimpsed at a distance the Narrows tilt, and saw smoke issuing from the pipe, they welcomed it joyfully, and were glad enough to be back. Upon entering they found Indian Jake busily engaged preparing supper, the tilt cozy and warm, and the kettle boiling merrily. A pot of partridges simmering upon the stove sent forth an appealing odor. Then they realized how very lonely they had been.

“How you making it, lads?” asked Indian Jake cheerily.

“Not so bad,” answered David stoutly.

“’Tis wonderful fine t’ see you, Jake,” exclaimed Andy.

“’Tis that,” agreed David.

Indian Jake laughed.

“’Twas—’twas growin’ lonesome out there,” explained Andy.

“Yes,” said Indian Jake, “it is lonesome out there till you get used to it.”

“It seems a wonderful long time since we left the Jug,” observed Andy, as they ate supper.

“Not so long,” said David, a little inclined to brag.

“No only a month yet. But,” condescendingly, “’tis like t’ seem long the first time. ’Twas so when I was up here with Pop last year. But I’m not mindin’ un now.”

“You was lonesome enough up at the Namaycush Lake tilt,” Andy retorted.

“’Twon’t help any t’ talk about un,” warned Indian Jake. “You’ll be gettin’ homesick at the start.”

But after this the hope that each trap would reward them with a fine pelt kept alive their keen interest in the work. And, too, they were doing exceedingly well. Before the middle of December they had captured fourteen martens, one red, one cross, and two white foxes, which was quite as well, Indian Jake declared, as he had done, and was very well indeed, and they were proud.

“And it’s all prime fur except th’ first two martens we got,” said David.

“We’re makin’ a grand hunt, Davy!” exclaimed Andy, enthusiastically.

“That we are!” agreed David.

The cold was tightening with each December day. Wild, fierce storms sprang up suddenly, and the air was filled with blinding clouds of snow. But David and Andy kept steadily at their work, with “plenty of grit, and stout hearts,” lying idle only when it would have been too dangerous or foolhardy to venture forth from the protection of the tilts. This is the portion of the fur hunter’s existence.

But neither David nor Andy gave thought to the hardships he was experiencing. They had expected them, and they were accustomed to cold weather and deep snows. They were always glad, however, to reach the snug shelter of the tilts, of nights.

Their excellent success kept them in good spirits and contented at their work for the most part, though sometimes, when drifting snows clogged the traps, and days were spent in clearing them, the trails grew tedious, and then it was quite natural that they should long for the return of summer, and for home.

Nothing occurred to vary the monotonous routine of the days until late one December afternoon. The previous night had been one of wind and drifting snow. The fox traps lay deeply covered by drifts, and since early morning they had been clearing and resetting them. The long northern twilight was at hand, and, plodding silently along toward the Namaycush Lake tilt, still three miles away, they were thinking of the hot supper and warm fire, and hours of rest that should presently be theirs, when suddenly David stopped and listened intently.

“What is it?” asked Andy.

“’Tis something following us,” answered David after a moment’s silence.

“I hears nothing,” said Andy.

“But ’tis there!” insisted David. “I feels un!”

A little longer they listened, and then passed on.

“There is somethin’!” exclaimed Andy presently, in an awed voice. “I feels un too.”

Closer and closer the something seemed to come, stealing after them stealthily through the shadows of the forest. With the instinct of those born and bred to the solitudes, they felt the presence, and were certain it was there, though they could neither hear nor see it.

Again and again they paused expectantly to listen, and at length their keen ears caught a light, stealthy tread.

X

THE FIGHT WITH A WOLF PACK

“HEAR un! Hear un coming!” exclaimed Andy in a hushed voice.

“’Tis just back there in th’ bush, but I can’t see un!” said David, under his breath.

“Take a shot, anyhow,” suggested Andy, who had lashed his own rifle on the load, that he might carry an ax, which was constantly required in the work about the traps.

“Not till we sees un,” David objected. “Pop says never shoot at what you don’t see.”

They hurried a little now, though pausing frequently to peer into the forest gloom behind them. Twilight was thickening. The thing, whatever it was, that followed them was growing bolder and less careful to conceal its movements. With little effort they could quite plainly hear the tread of soft footfalls on places where the snow was covered by an icy crust. It was not, however, until the stovepipe of the tilt, standing in black silhouette above a great snowdrift that nearly covered the little log building, had risen into view, that Andy, looking back, exclaimed:

“There ’tis, now! There ’tis! Wolves!”