The Bungalow Boys North of Fifty-Three

  But already there were signs that what Mr. Dacre and Mr. Chillingworthhad feared, namely, the enmity of the professional trappers of thecountry had been aroused. As small clouds precede a mighty storm, soslight signs may indicate coming trouble. Mr. Chillingworth had himselfbeen a trapper when younger and he knew the wild, half-savage traits ofmost of this class of men well.

  Jealous of intrusion on what they deem their rights to the wild lands,distrustful as wild animals and vengeful, and experienced in the ways ofthe silent places, they make enemies not to be despised. This fact theboys were closer than they thought to discovering, and that before manyhours had elapsed.

  CHAPTER III--THE THIEF IN THE NIGHT.

  "_Say, Tom!_"

  The elder of the Dacre boys awakened with a start from a sound sleep tofind his brother Jack bending over him. That is, he knew it was Jackfrom the lad's voice, but, as for seeing him, that was impossible, forthe cabin of the _Yukon Rover_ was pitchy dark.

  "What's up, Jack? What's the trouble?" "It's something over by the foxcages." Jack's voice was vibrant with anxiety. As for Tom, he was up ina jiffy. In the cages, as has been mentioned, were some half dozensilver foxes and one black one. In all, about seventy-five hundreddollars' worth of pelts "on the hoof," as it were, were confined in thebig wooden cribs.

  That night before they had turned in, Tom and Jack, leaving Sandy in hisbunk recuperating from his ducking of the afternoon, had visited thecages and fed their valuable charges with the fish which formed theirmain article of diet.

  "It is really like being left as watchmen in a bank," Tom had laughinglyremarked as they saw to it that all was secure for the night.

  "Well, I don't think it is likely that anyone would care to tacklevaluables like these foxes," Jack had rejoined, as the animals sprangsnapping and snarling viciously at the fish, "that is, unless they werelike the Spartan boy in the old reader come to life again."

  "I'm not so sure about that," had been Tom's grave reply. "Before UncleDacre and Mr. Chillingworth left, they warned me to be constantly on thelookout for trouble, and to spare no pains in watching the foxes atevery possible opportunity."

  "But who in the world can they be afraid of up here in this desolate,uninhabited part of the world?" Jack had asked, gazing about at thesolitary, snow-covered slopes, the drooping balsams and the long stretchof empty, frozen valley.

  "As for its being uninhabited, I'm not so sure of that," Tom hadreplied. "You remember those two miners 'way back in the hills where wethought no human being had penetrated; and at this time of year, Mr.Chillingworth said the trappers are ranging all through this part of thecountry."

  "You mean that you imagine they thought there would be danger ofsomebody bothering our foxes?" Jack had inquired anxiously.

  "That is just what I mean," Tom had said. "Of course they didn't say soin so many words, but I'll bet that was what was on their minds. To lotsof trappers there's a fortune right here in these cages."

  This was food for reflection, and Jack had been in a wakeful mood allthat night. What the hour was he could not imagine, but a short timebefore he aroused Tom, he had heard a soft crunching on the snow outsidein the direction of the fox cages, followed by a sound as if the pensthemselves were being tampered with.

  He had leaped from his bunk with a bound and made for his brother's, Tombeing the accepted leader of the Bungalow Boys.

  "Close the shutters!" were the first orders Tom gave.

  "What for?" Jack could not refrain from asking.

  "So that no light can get outside" was Tom's reply, "while we jump intosome clothes and see what's up."

  The shutters he referred to were used when an unusually heavy wind cameup. They were felt lined and excluded every bitter draft. At such timesventilation was obtained from a device in the roof of the cabin. Jacksoon had the solid blinds closed and fastened, and then he struck amatch and lit the hanging lamp. The next task was to arouse Sandy whilethey hastily dressed. The Scotch lad was hard to awaken, but at lengthhe sat up blinking and drowsy, and Tom rapidly informed him of what Jackhad heard.

  "Huh! I'll bet it was nothing but just a wolverine," spoke Sandyscornfully.

  Wolverines, the gluttons of the northland, had assailed the fox pensquite frequently, being attracted by the odor of fish. In one instancethe black fox's pen had been almost demolished by the steel-clawed,truculent robber of the northern woods.

  "Maybe that's what it was," said Jack anxiously, inwardly much relieved.As a matter of fact he had not much relished the notion of creeping outinto the night upon possible human intruders.

  "Well, if it is wolverines, we'll have a chance to nail themred-handed," said Tom, "so get a move on and jump into your 'parkee'."

  Sandy saw from Tom's face that there was no use delaying any longer andhe lost no time in obeying. Then, armed with rifles, having carefullyextinguished the light, the boys crept softly out into the night.

  It was bitterly cold, but to the north the famous "Lights" flashed andburned against the sky, shedding a softly luminous radiance on the whitecovering of the earth.

  "Ugh!" shivered Jack under his breath, "isn't it cold, though!"

  "Hoot!" grunted Sandy disgustedly, "if it hadna' been for you and yourfalse alarms, we might ha' been in our beds the noo' instead of trapsingaround oot here like a lot of gloom-croons."

  "Hush!" breathed Tom impatiently; "what's the matter with you fellows?Can't you move quietly?"

  "Oh, aye!" rejoined Sandy. "In my opeenion, yon noise was nought but apack o' bogles."

  "Then they're the first ghosts I ever heard of that carried hatchets,"retorted Tom sharply, although in a low whisper. "Hark at that!"

  They all paused just within the doorway of the _Yukon Rover's_deck-house, into which they had withdrawn, and listened intently.

  Over against the hill there could be made out in the faint glow of theNorthern Lights a number of dark blotches sharply outlined by theirwhite background. These blotches they knew were the fox cages. In otherwords, the "safes" containing the four-footed wealth they had been setto guard.

  "Can you see anything?" asked Jack under his breath.

  "I'm not sure,--just a minute,--yes! Look there!"

  "Where?" demanded Jack, his eyes burning and his heart giving a violentthump.

  "Right by the last cage."

  "The one that the black fox is in?"

  "Yes."

  "By hookey, I do! It's--it's------"

  "A man!"

  "Holy smoke! What'll we do now?"

  "Get after him, of course. Come on!"

  Clutching his rifle in his gloved hands Tom started forward, but beforehe could move another step he stopped short. From over by the blackfox's cage there came a shot and a blinding flash.

  "He's shooting!" cried Sandy in real alarm.

  "Yes, but not at us," rejoined Tom excitedly, springing forward oncemore, "it's the black fox he is after. We've got to head him off in thatlittle game."

  CHAPTER IV--THE TRACKS IN THE SNOW.

  As they ran across the bridge of planks connecting the _Yukon Rover_with the shore, the boys saw something else. Standing by the cages insuch a position that they had not seen it before was a dog-sled.

  Even as they were still on the gangway the form of a man glided throughthe darkness toward the sled. In his arms he held a bundle of some sort.

  "Stop where you are!" cried Tom, guessing with a catch at the heart whatit was the man was carrying.

  There was no reply. The man had reached the sled and bent swiftly overit an instant.

  Crack!

  Jack gave a jump. The man was not shooting. It was the sharp crack ofhis dog-whip, sounding like the report of a pistol on the frozen air,that had startled the boy.

  The dogs started forward. The sled creaked on the hard, packed snow. Itbegan to glide off through the night like a phantom.

  "Stop or we'll fire!" shouted Jack excitedly.

  He raised his rifle but Tom sternl
y grasped his arm.

  "None of that," ordered the elder Dacre boy sternly.

  "But--but he's a robber, or at least attempted to be one," sputteredJack indignantly.

  "That makes no difference. We don't want any shooting."

  "Hoosh!" exclaimed Sandy disgustedly, "you're going to let him get clearaway."

  Before Tom could check him, the Scotch boy had leveled his rifle andfired in the direction of the sled, which could now only be made out asa dark object gliding swiftly off over the snow.

  From that direction there floated back to them a laugh. It was aderisive sound that made Tom's blood boil, but he kept his head.

  "You do anything like that again, Sandy," he said, turning on the Scotchlad, "and you'll have me to settle with."

  "But we can't let him get away like that without raising afinger,--hoosh!" exclaimed Sandy indignantly.

  "Let's first see if he has really done any harm," said Tom, "he may haveonly intended it and we have frightened him off."

  But although he spoke hopefully, Tom's inner senses told him that thedaring marauder had done more than merely alarm them. In the firstplace, there was the shot coming from the direction of the black fox'scage. To Tom that could mean only one thing and that was that theintruder had killed the occupant of the cage. In fact, that was the onlyway that he could have secured his prey, for the foxes were wild andsavage to a degree, and it would have been impossible for anyone toabstract them alive.

  All these thoughts and conclusions flitted through his mind while Jackand Sandy, at his orders, were getting a lantern. When it arrived, thethree boys in any but enviable frames of mind made their way as quicklyas possible to the fox cages.

  The animals were excited and frightened, and through the darkness theiranxious eyes glowed like jewels as the lantern light struck them. Thisshowed Tom that at least six of the cages still held their occupants.But the seventh, the one that had been used to hold the black fox, wasapparently empty.

  When they reached the pen in question even Tom could not refrain fromexclamations of anger, for the cage had been ripped open and the blackfox was indeed gone.

  On the snow were blood-stains in plenty, and enough mute evidence of theslaying and theft to enable them to reconstruct everything that hadhappened as well as if they had seen it all.

  "Oh! wow! Fifteen hundred dollars gone ker-plunk!" wailed Jack.

  "Hoots-toots," clucked Sandy, clicking his tongue indignantly, "thebonny black fox killed and taken by that gloomerin' thief!"

  Tom alone was silent. The suddenness and completeness of the catastrophehad overwhelmed him. What could they say to Mr. Dacre and his partnerwhen they returned from the settlement? What explanation could they makethat would excuse their seeming carelessness?

  As Tom stood there beside the empty cage with the blood-stained snow athis feet, he passed through some of the bitterest moments of his life.He was fairly at a standstill. In the dark it would be impossible toovertake the bold thief, and there was no means, of course, of sendingout a warning as might have been done in a civilized region.

  No; the thief had vanished and there appeared to be not the remotestchance of ever catching him. Any trader would be glad to buy the blackfox skin, and with the proceeds the marauder could easily leave thecountry, leaving no trace behind him.

  "What will Uncle Dacre say?"

  It was Jack who voiced Tom's gloomy thoughts. With his younger brother'swords a sudden resolution came into Tom's mind. Undoubtedly he, as theone in charge of the camp, was responsible for the loss of the blackfox. It would never be seen alive again, of that he was sure.

  But its skin? That was valuable. If he could only recover that, it wouldat least be partial restoration for what he, perhaps unjustly, felt wasa neglect of his duty.

  He came out of his reverie. Swiftly he set about examining the remainderof the cages. They had not been tampered with. No doubt the thief knewthat he was not likely to have time to rob more than one cageundisturbed after the noise of his gun had aroused those who wereundoubtedly on watch. With this in mind he had taken the most valuableof the lot.

  Tom's eyes fell on the tracks of the dog-sled on the hardly frozen snow.They lay there in the yellow lantern light as clean cut and conspicuousalmost as parallel lines of a railroad.

  The boy knew that the sled must be packed heavily, probably with all theparaphernalia of a traveling trapper. The question of how the man hadcome to find out about the valuable collection of foxes on the bank ofthe Porcupine River, Tom, of course, could not guess. But one thing hedid know--that the thief had left behind him a valuable trail which itwould be as easy to follow as the red line on a map indicating atranscontinental railroad.

  And that track Tom meant to follow before it grew cold. They had no dogsleds, but they knew that the man with his heavy load could not makevery fast time. Before daylight, long before the first glimmerings ofthe brief winter's day of the north, the boys' arrangements had beencompleted.

  Snow-shoes were looked over and thongs inspected, tea and provisionspacked into provision bags secured with "tump-lines," and everything putinto readiness for the long trail that Tom and Jack (for his youngerbrother was to be his companion) were to strike. As the boys had been inthe habit of going thus equipped over the long trap-line, and had becomeadepts on snow-shoes, these preparations did not take long.

  Sandy was almost in tears when it was decided that he was to be leftbehind. But it was necessary for someone to be there to feed and guardthe foxes, and to be on hand to meet Mr. Dacre and his partner on theirreturn from the settlements and explain matters to them. Tom was notcertain just when their elders would get back, but he entertained avague hope that it might be possible to overtake the thief and securethe black fox pelt before that time.

  As the two lads glided off in the dim gray light, moving swiftly alongthe thief's trail on their snow-shoes, Sandy stood and watched them tillthey were almost out of ear-shot.

  "Good-luck!" he shouted and saw them turn and wave, and then, feelingvery depressed and alone, he turned back to the _Yukon Rover_ and to thefoxes which were already barking and whining for their fish.

  CHAPTER V--THE WILDERNESS TRAIL.

  It is a peculiarity of the wilderness, be it in the frozen north orunder the blazing sun of the southwest, that it breeds in its dwellersand sojourners a stout and hardy independence and self-reliance that noother life can. In the midst of primitive solitudes, where man has tobattle with nature for his means of life, every quality of hardiness andingenuity that may have been dormant in civilization is called forth bythat stern task-mistress, necessity.

  Thus it was that, though only boys so far as years were concerned, theirmany adventures had made of Tom and Jack Dacre two woodsmen of unusualcompetence, considering that they had not been born and bred to thelife. Brown as berries, with muscles like spring-steel, and in the pinkof condition, the lads were as well equipped almost as veteran woodsmento fight the battle of the wilds which lay before them.

  As they glided along over the hard crust of the snow, always with thetrail of the sled stretching before them, a sort of feeling that wasalmost exultation came over them. Both boys possessed a love ofadventure, a delight in meeting with and conquering difficulties andasserting their manliness and grit, and surely if ever they had anopportunity before them for the exercise of these faculties they had itnow.

  Along with their heavy garments and thick hoods, the lads carried packsand their rifles, besides ammunition. In his belt each lad had a stouthunting knife and a serviceable hatchet. Stoutly laced leather bootsencased their legs as far as the knees, and altogether, to anyoneencountering them, they would have looked to the full the part ofefficiency and capability demanded by the problems of the north woods.

  As they ascended the valley and the tracks they were following began toleave the side of the river, they found themselves gliding through openwoods of spruce and balsam. In these woods signs of animal life began tobe plentiful. Everywhere the par
allel lines of the thief's sled werecriss-crossed with tracks of martens, and scored deep with the runwaysof the big hares.

  Sometimes they came on a spot where a pitiful little pile of bedraggledfur and scattered splashes of scarlet showed that a weasel or an erminehad made a banquet on some small woods creature.

  It was when within a short distance of one of these mute evidences of awoodland feast that Tom, who was in advance, came to a stop. Jack alsomade a quick halt. Running parallel to the trail of the sled was anothertrack,--that of an animal.

  Tom dropped his rifle butt on the ground and looked at Jack withquizzical eyes.

  "One of our old friends!" he said with a short laugh.

  The trail, which was somewhat like that of a small bear but muchnarrower in the feet, was a thoroughly familiar one to them. It was thatof the most cunning creature to be found north of fifty-three, and onethat is pretty well distributed throughout the wild regions of thenorth.

  It was, in fact, the track of a wolverine, carcajou, or, to give him thetrapper's and woodsman's expressive title, "the Glutton." No animal isso detested by the trappers. The wolverine's hide is of little value,but one of his banquets, made invariably at some luckless trapper'slure, may destroy a skin worth a hundred dollars or more.

  Among his other talents, the Glutton is possessed of a sense of smelland wariness keener than that of a fox. No bait has yet been devisedthat will lure him into a trap, no poisoned meat, no matter howskillfully set out, has, except on rare occasions, been known to tempthim. And so the wolverine, low, black and snakey-eyed, with ferociousteeth and claws, roams the northern woods seeking what, of other'scapture, it may devour. Nor does it confine its depredations to thetrap-lines.