Around the Camp-fire
CHAPTER I.OFF TO THE SQUATOOKS.—THE PANTHER AT THE PARSONAGE.—BEAR VS. BIRCH-BARK.
It was toward the end of July, and Fredericton, the little New Brunswickcapital, had grown hot beyond endurance, when six devotedcanoeists—Stranion, Magnus, Queerman, Sam, Ranolf, and myself—heardsimultaneously the voices of wild rapids calling to them from afar. Thedesire of the woods awoke in us. The vagrant blood that lurks in theveins of our race sprang up and refused to be still. The very next daywe fled from the city and starched collars, seeking freedom and the coolof the wilderness.
It was toward Lake Temiscouata and the wilds of the Squatooks that weset our eager faces. In shirt-sleeves and moccasins we went. Forconvenience we had our clothes stitched full of pockets. Our three goodbirch canoes and our other _impedimenta_ we put on board a flat-car atthe station. And that same evening found us at the village ofEdmundston, where the Madawaska flows into the St. John at a point aboutone hundred and fifty miles above Fredericton.
Unless you are an experienced canoeman, skilled not only with the paddlebut with the pole, and expert to run the roughest rapids, you shouldtake a guide with you on the Squatook trip. You should go in the bow ofyour canoe, with a trusty Indian in the stern; one Indian and one canoefor each man of the party. The art of poling a birch-bark against astiff current is no easy one to acquire, and needs both aptitude andpractice. Your Indian will teach you in the gentler waters; and the restof the time you may lounge at your ease, casting a fly from side toside, and ever climbing on between the changing shores. But as for us,we needed no Indians. We were all six masters of canoe-craft. Each tookhis turn at the white spruce pole; and we conquered the currentsrejoicing.
Temiscouata is a long, narrow lake just outside the boundaries of NewBrunswick. It lies in the Province of Quebec; but its outlet is theMadawaska River, a New Brunswick stream. Our plan of proceeding was totake to the canoes at Edmundston, and pole fifteen miles up theMadawaska, make a portage of five miles across country to Mud Lake,follow Beardsley Brook, the outlet of Mud Lake, to its junction with theSquatook River, and then slip down this swift stream, with its chain ofplacid expansions, till we should float out upon the waters of TolediLake. Toledi River would then receive us among its angry rapids andcascades, to eject us forcibly at last upon the great bosom ofTemiscouata, whence we should find plain paddling back to Edmundston.This would make a round trip of, say one hundred and forty miles; andall of them, save the first fifteen, with the current.
At Edmundston that evening we pitched our tent beside the stream; andnext morning, though it was raw and threatening, we made an early start.In one canoe went Stranion and Queerman; in the second, Sam and Ranolf;in the third, Magnus and myself. The bedding, extra clothing, etc.,laced up snugly in squares of oiled canvas, made luxurious seats, whilethe eatables were stowed in light, strong boxes built to fit the canoes.
The first day out is usually uneventful, and this was no exception. Whenadventures are looked for they pretty certainly fail to arrive. Wereached the portage with an hour of daylight to spare, and there foundan old log cabin, which saved us the necessity of pitching our tent. Itwas dry, well-ventilated, abundantly uncivilized. What a supper Stranioncooked for us! And then what a swarm of mosquitoes and midges flocked into bid us welcome! We hedged ourselves about with a cordon of slow firesof cedar bark, the smoke of which proved most distasteful to them, andalmost equally so to us. And then with a clear blaze crackling beforethe open door, and our blankets spread on armfuls of spruce boughs, wedisposed ourselves luxuriously for pipes and yarns.
Queerman drew a long, blissful whiff through his corn-cob, blew asuccession of rings, and murmured like a great bumblebee,—
“The world is Vagabondia To him who is a vagabond.”
“Who’ll tell us the first yarn?” inquired Sam, as his pipe drew freely.
“Stranion begins,” said Magnus quietly. Magnus was a man of few words;but when he opened his mouth, what he said went. He was apt to do moreand say less than any one else in the party.
“Well, boys,” said Stranion, “if Magnus says so, here goes. What shall Italk about?”
“Who ever heard of Stranion talking about anything but panthers?” jeeredRanolf.
“Well,” assented Stranion, “there’s something in what you say. The othernight I was thinking over the various adventures which have befallen mein my devotion to birch and paddle. It surprises me to find what a lotof scrapes I’ve got into with the panthers. The brutes seem to fairlyhaunt me. Of course fellows who every year go into the Squatook woodsare bound to have adventures, more or less. You get cornered maybe by anold bull-moose, or have a close shave with some excited bear, or strikean unusually ugly lynx, or get spilled out of the canoe when you’retrying to run Toledi Falls; but in my case it is a panther every time.Whenever I go into the woods there is sure to be one of these creaturessneaking around. I declare it makes me quite uneasy to think of it,though I’ve always got the best of them so far. I’ll bet you a troutthere are one or two spotting me now from those black thickets on themountain; and one of these days, if I don’t look sharp, they’ll begetting even with me for all the members of their family that I have cutoff in their sins.”
“Oh, you go along!” exclaimed Sam. “You’re getting sentimental. I cantell you, I have killed more trout than you have panthers, and there’sno old patriarch of a trout going to get even with me!”
Sam’s practical remark went unheeded; and in a few moments Stranionresumed,—
“You see, boys, the beasts began to haunt me in my very cradle so tospeak. Did any of you ever hear mother tell that story?”
“I have!” ejaculated Queerman; but the rest of us hastened to declareour ignorance.
“Very well,” said Stranion. “Queerman shall see that I stick to thefacts.”
“Oh, boys, I’ve a heavy contract on hand then,” cried Queerman.
But Stranion blandly ignored him, and continued,—
“I’ll call this tale—
‘THE PANTHER AT THE PARSONAGE.’
“You have all seen the old parsonage at the mouth of the Keswick River.That’s a historic edifice for you! Therein was I born. There were moretrees around it then than now.
“At the mature age of ten months I moved away from that neighborhood,but not before the Indian devil, as the panther is called in thatregion, had found me out and marked me as a foreordained antagonist.
“One bright June morning, when I was about five months old, and not yetable to be much protection to my young mother, my father set out on oneof his long parochial drives, and we were left alone,—no, not quitealone; there was Susan, the kitchen-girl, for company. That constitutedthe garrison of the parsonage on that eventful morning,—mother, Susan,and myself.
“I cannot say I _remember_ what took place, but I have so often beentold it that I feel as if I had taken an active part. Mother and I weresitting by an open window, down-stairs, looking out on the front yard,when suddenly mother called out sharply,—
“‘Susan, Susan! Come here and see what sort of a creature this is comingthrough the grove!’
“There was a frightened ring in my mother’s voice which brought Susanpromptly to her side.
“Just then the ‘creature,’ which was long and low and stealthy, reachedthe garden fence. It mounted the fence gracefully, and paused to lookabout.
“With a horrified gasp, mother caught me to her bosom, and whispered,—
“‘It’s a tiger!’
“‘No’m,’ cried Susan, ‘it ain’t no tiger; but it’s an Injun devil, whichis pretty nigh as bad.’ And she ran and slammed down the window.
“The noise attracted the brute’s attention. He glanced our way, droppedto the ground, and crept stealthily toward the house.
“‘The attic!’ cried mother wildly. ‘All the windows down-stairs are wideopen.’
“I need hardly assure you, boys, it didn’t take those two women and mevery long to get u
p-stairs. As we reached the top we heard a crash inthe parlor, and mother nearly squeezed me to death in her terror for me;but Susan exclaimed almost gleefully,—
“‘I declare, if he ain’t got in the wrong winder! Parlor door’s shut!’
“By this time we were on the attic stairs; and the door at the foot ofthe stairs—a solid, old-fashioned country door—was safely bolted behindus.
“That door was the only means of access to the attic; and on the head ofthe stairs we all sat down to take breath. Then in mother the anxioushousewife began to reappear.
“‘What _was_ that the horrid brute broke in the parlor, Susan?’ shequeried.
“‘Must a’ been them dishes on the little table by the winder, ma’am,’responded the girl.
“And then we heard a clatter again, as the beast, in springing out ofthe window, knocked the fragments of pottery aside.
“In a few moments he found another entrance. The soft _pat_, _pat_ ofhis great furry feet could be heard on the lower stairs. He wasevidently hungry, and much puzzled at our sudden disappearance.
“We could hear him sniffing around, in and out of the bedrooms, and atlast that soft, persistent tread found its way to the attic door.
“How he did sniff about the bottom of that door till the blood of hisprisoners ran cold with horror! Then he began to scratch, which was morethan they could stand.
“Terror lent them invention, and mother put me into a basket of oldclothes, while she helped Susan drag a heavy bedstead to the head of thestairs. This bedstead effectually blocked the narrow stairway, and whenthey had piled a chest of drawers on top of it they once more feltsecure.
“All this trouble was unneeded, however, as that door, opening outward,was an insurmountable barrier to the panther.
“In a few minutes he stole away restlessly. Then we heard someflower-pots, which stood on the window-ledge of the front bedroom, gocrash on the steps below. The Indian devil was getting out of thewindow.
“Now, the attic in which we had taken refuge was lighted by twowindows,—a small one in the gable, looking out upon the barnyard, andthe other, a very small skylight, reached by a sort of fixed step-ladderfrom the attic floor.
“As soon as mother heard the animal’s claws on the side of the house,she thought of the skylight, and cried to Susan to shut it.
“The skylight had an outer shutter of wood, which was closed inwinter-time to keep the heavy snowfall from breaking the glass.
“This shutter was now thrown back upon the roof, and the inner sash wasraised a few inches for the sake of ventilation. Susan fairly flew upthe ladder, and pulled out the little stick that supported the sash.
“She had barely got the hook slipped into the staple when the panther’sround head and big light eyes appeared within a foot of her face. Shegave a startled shriek, and fell down the ladder.
“At this juncture the two women gave themselves up for lost; and mother,seizing an old curtain-pole, which lay among the attic lumber, preparedto sell my infant life at a pretty high figure.
“All escape from the attic was blocked by the articles they had socarefully wedged into the stairway. This it would take them some time toclear.
“They never imagined that so fierce a brute as the panther could bestopped by an ordinary sash and glass, however strong.
“But the Indian devil is wary, and this one was suspicious of the glass.When, on attempting to put his head down through the skylight, he metwith an obstacle where he did not see any, he thought he detected atrap.
“He sniffed all over each pane, stopping every moment to eye us angrily.Then he scratched, but very gingerly, at the sash, and only tore awaysome splinters. The sash was stout and new.
“At last he thrust his muzzle over roughly against the pane, and hisnose went through the glass. Susan sank in a heap, while mother, withdeadly purpose, grasped her curtain-pole, expecting instant attack.
“It was not to be so, however; for which the world is much to becongratulated. The panther cut his nose pretty severely on the brokenglass, and shrank back, snarling viciously.
“He was more than ever convinced that the skylight was a trap, and wouldnot trust his muzzle again in the opening.
“Observing the beast’s caution, mother plucked up new hope. Sheremembered having read that lions and tigers were afraid of fire, andforthwith she hit on a truly brilliant expedient.
“‘Get up, Susan,’ she commanded, ‘and be of some use. Go and light thatlamp on your washstand, and bring it to me.’
“Susan obeyed with alacrity, cheered by the thought that there wasanything left to do. When the lamp was brought, mother laid the chimneyaside, and turned up the wick so as to give a flaring, smoky blaze. Thenshe handed the lamp back to Susan.
“‘Take it,’ she said, ‘and set it on the top of the ladder, right underthe broken pane.’
“This was too much for poor Susan.
“‘Oh, I dasn’t—never!’ she whimpered, backing hastily out of hermistress’s reach.
“Mother regarded her with withering scorn, then turned and looked at me,where I lay close behind her in a basket of old clothes.
“Assuring herself that the panther could not get me in her absence, sheseized the lamp and marched up the ladder with it. The panther growledmost menacingly, and thrust his face down to the opening; but as thesmoke and flame came under his nose, he snarled and drew back.
“On the very topmost step did mother deposit the lamp, where it blazedright up through the broken pane. As she turned down the ladder, thepanther’s claws were heard along the shingles, beating a reluctantretreat.
“In a moment or two he was heard on the shed, and then mother opened theskylight, reached out, and clapped down the wooden shutter. Susan’scourage revived.
“Now that the danger was over, mother picked me out of the basket, andgathered me again to her bosom, while Susan began to speculate on whatthe panther would be up to next. On this point she was not long left indoubt.
“In the corner of the barnyard was a pig-pen, inhabited at the time by apig three months old. Presently the poor little pig set up a terrificsquealing, and mother and Susan rushed to the gable window.
“As I have said before, this window commanded a view of the barnyard.The panther was on the roof of the pen, peering down through the cracks,and scratching vigorously to gain an entrance. Baby had been denied him,but pork he was determined to have.
“The pig squealed in a way that mother trusted would alarm theneighborhood, and tried to hide himself in the straw from the reach ofthose pale, cruel eyes. At last the panther quitted the roof, and foundthe pen door. Here he paused a moment or two, suspecting another trap.Then, finding nothing suspicious, in he glided. There was one terrificsqueal, and all was still.
“I fancy mother and Susan both wept, thinking how well the fate of poorpiggie might have been their own—and mine.
“For a long while the two women kept watch at the window. At last thepanther reappeared, walking very lazily, and licking his chops. Heglanced at the house in a good-natured fashion, as if he bore us nogrudge; cleaned his great face with one paw, sniffed the airthoughtfully in various directions, and then made off towards the woods;and we knew that our pig went with him.
“When he was well out of sight, mother and Susan removed the barricadesand forsook the attic. You may be sure they fastened every window, kepta keen outlook, and went about their work in fear and trembling.
“When my father got home, in the middle of the afternoon, he heard thestory before he could unharness the horse. Straightway he set out again,and organized a hunting-party among the neighbors. The party was armedwith all sorts and conditions of weapons; but it bagged that pantherbefore sundown, whereby was my mother much consoled. And now, have Istuck to the facts?” said Stranion, turning to Queerman.
“To my surprise, you have!” responded the latter.
“Well,” went on Stranion, unruffled, “since the panthers got after me soearly, it’s not much cause for
wonder if they’ve kept it up.”
At this moment a strange, unearthly, gurgling cry broke the night’sstillness, and we started involuntarily.
“There is one of mine ancient enemies now,” said Stranion. “I’m sure tofall foul of him tomorrow, and one or the other of us will rue the day!”
“Well,” said Sam, “we all know it won’t be Stranion!”
The story done, I rose and replenished the fire, while Magnus passedaround a tin of hot coffee. A whippoorwill,—
“Threshing the summer dusk With his gold flail of song,”
was heard in a hillside thicket, and Queerman cried,—
“Listen to him, boys!”
“No,” said Stranion; “we’ll now give our very best attention while Samtells us one of his old bear stories.”
“Indeed,” said Sam with an indignant sniff; “I’ll tell you one I nevertold before, and a true one at that. Now don’t interrupt, for I intendto do it up in a somewhat literary fashion, to save the Old Man troublein writing it down.”
“Thank you kindly,” said I. I was the official scribe of the party, andfamiliarly known as the Old Man, or simply O. M., for short.
“BEAR VS. BIRCH-BARK,”
continued Sam, “is the title of my narrative. It was on the upper watersof the Oromocto River that the case of Bear _vs._ Birch-bark wasdecided. Thither had Alec Hammond and I betaken ourselves in our canoeto kill some Oromocto trout.
“The Oromocto is for the most part much less rapid than other troutrivers of New Brunswick; in fact, for long distances its current isquite sluggish, a characteristic finely suited to our indolence of mood.Paddling quietly, or poling when the water was swift, we soon leftbehind us all traces of civilization. Instead of beautiful open meadowshores shaded with here and there a mighty elm or ash, we entered theruggedest parts of the original wilderness, where the soil was toobarren and stony to tempt even a squatter, and where the banks wereclothed with dark hemlocks to the water’s edge. Sometimes these sombrewoods gave back a space, and a wild confusion of many kinds of treestook their place,—pines, ash, birch, basswood, larch, and beech, mixedwith fallen trunks and staring white bowlders. Sometimes, again, in themidst of the most impenetrable forest a delightful little patch ofinterval, or dry waterside meadow, would open up before us, inviting usto pitch our tent amid its deep, soft grasses. Scattered through thegrass were clumps of tall wild lilies, their orange blossoms glowingamid the green; and around the stately heads of the wild-parsnips, whichmade the air heavy with rich perfume, fluttered and clung thesilver-throated bobolinks. What wonder we rested when we came to thesewilderness gardens whose possession there was none to dispute with us!We found that as a rule we might count upon an ice-cold brook near by.Wherever such brooks flowed in, there would be a deep pool, or an eddycovered with foam-clusters, or a pebbly, musical rapid, which meant aday of activity for our rods and reels and flies.
“One day, after such a morning with the trout as had left our wristswell tired, we were inclined to give our rods a resting-spell. Theafternoon was sultry and drowsy,—it was toward the close of July,—andAlec’s highest ambition was to take a long siesta in the tent-door,where an overhanging beech-tree kept off the sun, and a sweet breezeseemed to have established its headquarters. There was no wind elsewherethat I could perceive, yet round our tent a soft breath of it waswandering all the day.
“For my own part I didn’t feel like loafing or lotus-eating. The feverfor specimens was upon me. I have an intermittent passion, as you know,for the various branches of natural history, and am given at times tocollecting birds and plants and insects. This afternoon I had visions ofgorgeous butterflies, rare feathered fowl, and various other strangelylovely things thronging my brain, so I put into the canoe my gauze netand double-barrelled breech-loader, and set off up stream in a vaguesearch after some novelty.
“Let me confess it, my taste was destined to be gratified beyond myhopes.
“Above our camping-ground the river for some distance was swift anddeep. Beyond this it widened out, and became almost as motionless as alake. Along these still reaches the shores were comparatively low, andless heavily wooded, with here and there a little corner of meadow, abit of wet marsh covered with cat-tail flags, or a dense fragrantthicket of Indian willow. There were water-lily leaves in broad patchesright across the stream; and the air was gay with green and purpledragon-flies, which lit on my gunwale, and glittered in the sun likejewels. There was not even a rustle of leaves to break the silence.
“At last, as I noiselessly rounded a low bushy point, right ahead I sawa splendid blue heron, which was watching intently for minnows in theshallow water. He spread his broad wings and rose instantly. I had justtime to let him have one barrel as he disappeared over a thicket ofalders, flying so low that his long legs swept their tops. I feltcertain I had hit him, for straightway arose a great crackling andstruggling among the bushes beyond. In my haste I failed to notice thatthis disturbance was rather too violent to be proceeding from anywounded bird, unless it were a dodo.
“Running my birch ashore alongside of a mouldering trunk which hadfallen with half its length in the stream, I made my way, gun in hand,through the underwood, without stopping to load my empty barrel. Therewas no sign of blue herons where my bird was supposed to have fallen;but to my unlimited astonishment I beheld a black bear cub making off athis very best speed, badly scared.
“At my sudden appearance he gave a curious bleat of alarm, and redoubledhis efforts to escape. He had little cause for alarm, however, as I didnot want him for a specimen; and had I wanted him ever so much I couldnot well have bagged him with no heavier ammunition than bird-shot. Iwas watching his flight with a sort of sympathetic amusement when, witha most disagreeable suddenness and completeness, the tables were turnedupon me. In the underbrush behind me I heard a mighty crashing; andthere to my dismay was the old she-bear, in a fine rage, rushing to therescue of her offspring. Considering that the offspring’s peril was notimmediate, I thought she need not have been in such a tremendous hurry.
“I Could hear the Animal plunging in Pursuit.”—Page 19.]
“She had cut off my retreat. She was directly in the line of my solerefuge, my faithful and tried birch-bark. There was no time left formeditation. I darted straight toward the enemy. Undaunted by thisboldness she rose upon her hind-legs to give me a fitting reception.When almost within her reach I fired my charge of bird-shot right in herface, which, not unnaturally, seemed somewhat to confuse her for amoment. It was a moment’s diversion in my favor. I made the most of it.I dashed past, and had gained some paces toward the canoe, when myadversary was again in full chase, more furious than ever. As I reachedthe canoe she sprang upon the other end of the log, and was almostaboard of me ere I could seize the paddle and thrust out.
“Fortunately I had headed down stream, for the mad brute took to thewater without hesitation. Had the stream been deep I should merely havelaughed at this, but in these shallows it was no laughing matter. Thechannel was deep enough to impede the bear’s running, but by no means tomake running impossible. I felt that the question of speed between uswas now a painfully doubtful one. My back bent to the paddle. The broadblade flashed through the water with all the force and swiftness I wasmaster of. Close behind, though I could not spare time to look back, Icould hear the animal plunging in pursuit, and I was drenched with thespray of her splashings. I was a skilful canoeist; I have won manyraces; but never was another canoe-race I was so bent upon winning asthis one.
“At last, snatching a glance over my shoulder, I saw that I had gained,though but slightly. It was well I had, for the tremendous pace was onewhich I could keep up no longer. I knew the deep water was still farahead, and I knew, too, the obstinacy and tireless strength of mypursuer. There was, therefore, a grave uncertainty in my mind as towhether I could succeed in holding the lead much longer. I slackened alittle, saving my strength all I could; but the bear at once made up herlost ground, and my breathing
-space was brief. At a little short of mybest, but still at a killing pace enough, I found I could keep out ofreach. But if a shoal should come in the way, or a sunken log, or anylike obstruction, the game was up. With this chance in view I had littleleisure for watching my pursuer’s progress. I could hear, however, andfeel, quite too much of it.
“After what seemed an age of this desperate racing, we came to a part ofthe stream where I expected a change in my favor. For a quarter of amile I would have a fair current, in a narrower and deeper channel. HereI gained ground at once. I relaxed my efforts a good deal, gave myaching arms a moment’s rest, and watched the angry bear wallowingclumsily after me, able now neither to run nor swim. This ended thematter, I fondly imagined, and I drew a long sigh of relief.
“But I was far yet from being out of the wood! I had begun to ‘holloa’too soon! When the bear saw that I was about to escape she took to theland, which just here was fairly open and unobstructed; and to my horrorshe came bounding after me, along the water’s edge, at a rate which Icould not hope to rival. But in the pause I had recovered my breath andmy strength. I shot onward, and my antagonist had a hard gallop beforeshe overhauled me. I could mark now every bound of her great black form.The sharp chattering laugh of a kingfisher startled me, and I noticedthe bird fly off down stream indignant. How I wished I might borrow hiswings! Just then the bear, having got a little in advance of me, sprangfor mid-stream, so sagaciously timing her effort that had I kept on shemust inevitably have seized or upset me. But it was this I was on thewatch for. In the nick of time I backed water with all my might, swervedaside, and darted past close behind her—so close that I could haveclutched her shaggy hind-quarters. I had no special reason forattempting this feat, however, so I sped on.
“And now began a second stretch of shoals. For the next half-mile it wasmuch the same old story, save that I had gained a better start. Therewas one little variation, however, which came near making an end of thewhole affair. In rounding a sharp turn I did just what I had beendreading,—ran aground. It was only on the skirts of a sloping shoal, andI was off again before I had time to think; but the distance twixtpursuer and pursued had grown painfully less in that moment. I could allbut feel the animal’s hot breath upon the back of my neck. The strainwas terrible; but soon I began to take heart again. I thought to myselfthat surely I could hold out till clear of these last shallows; andafter that I knew the shores were such as might be expected to baffleeven this most indomitable of bears. When again we reached deep water Iwas paddling a splendid stroke, and the bear, apparently as fresh and aswrathful as ever, was floundering along perhaps two canoe-lengths in therear.
“By this time the camp was in sight, a good half-mile off. I saw Aleccome lazily out of the tent, take a glance at the situation, and dartback again. Gun in hand he re-appeared, and ran up the shore to meet us.Feeling that now I had matters pretty well my own way, I waved him back.So he took his stand on the summit of a precipitous bluff, and awaitedhis chance for a shot.
“As soon as the bear found herself again compelled to swim, with a snortand a growl she turned shoreward to repeat her former manœuvre. She tookthe opposite shore to that occupied by Alec. The banks were steep andcrumbly, clothed along top with bushes and fallen trees and rocks, and atangle of wild vines. Yet the unwearied brute managed to overcome thesedifficulties by her stupendous strength, and actually outstripped meonce more. It was all she could accomplish, however; and just as shesprang for the canoe the edge of the bank gave way beneath her weight,and in an avalanche of stones and loose earth she rolled head over heelsinto the river. I was far away before she could recover herself. I sawshe was utterly disgusted with the whole thing. She clambered ashore,and on the top of the bank stood stupidly gazing after me. Then Ilaughed and laughed till my over-strained sides were near bursting. Icould hear peals of mirth from Alec at his post on the bluff, and wascalmed at last by a fear lest his convulsions might do him some injury.
“Reaching the landing-place, I only waited to pull the canoe’s nose uponto the grass, then threw myself down quite exhausted. A moment laterthe bear gave herself a mighty shaking, and, accepting her defeat, movedsullenly back up stream.”
As Sam concluded, Stranion rose and gravely shook him by the hand.
“I congratulate you on winning your case!” said he. “And now, beingfirst night out, let’s all turn in, or we’ll be fagged to-morrow.”
It is hard to get to sleep the first night in camp, and I was awake foran hour after all the rest were snoring. I lay listening to the softconfusion of night sounds, till at last the liquid gabble of a shallowbelow the camp faded into an echo of cathedral bells; and while I wasyet wondering at the change, I found the morning sun in my face, and sawStranion holding out a tin of hot coffee. I sprang up, and found myselfthe laggard of the crowd.
“Come to breakfast,” cried Stranion. “Lynch is here, and it’s time wewere over the portage.”
Tom Lynch was a lumberman whom we had engaged by letter to come with histeam and drag, and haul our canoes over to Mud Lake. His team was a yokeof half-wild brindle steers. The portage was five miles long, the way anunvarying succession of ruts, mud-holes, and stumps, and Mr. Lynch’svocabulary, like his temper, was exceedingly vivacious. Yet the journeywas accomplished by the middle of the afternoon, and with no bonesbroken. The flies and mosquitoes were swarming, but we inflicted uponthem a crushing defeat by the potent aid of “slitheroo.” This magicfluid consists of Stockholm tar and tallow spiced with pennyroyal, andboiled to about the consistency of treacle. It will almost keep agrizzly at bay.
By half-past three in the afternoon we were launched upon theunenchanting bosom of Mud Lake, a pond perhaps three miles incircumference, weedy, and swarming with leeches. It hardly exceeds twofeet in apparent depth, but its bottom is a fathomless slime, stirred upvilely at every dip of the paddle. Its low, marshy shores, fringed hereand there with dead bushes and tall, charred trunks, afforded us but onelittle bit of beauty,—the green and living corner where Beardsley Brookflows out. At this season the brook was very shallow, so that we hadoften to wade beside the canoes and ease them over the shallows. And nowSam did a heroic thing. He volunteered to let the rest of us do thework, while he waded on ahead to catch some trout for supper.
It was by no means unpleasant wading down this bright and ripplingstream, whose banks were lovely with overhanging trees through which thesunlight came deliciously tempered. Time slipped by as sweetly as thestream. But a little surprise was in store for us. We were descending abeautiful alder-fringed reach, when around a bend below us appeared Samwith undignified impetuosity. He struggled toward us knee-deep in thecurrent, dashing up the spray before him, his eyes as wide as saucers.“A bear! A bear!” he gasped; and hurling down his rod and fish in thecanoe he seized a heavy revolver. We had grasped our weaponsprecipitately, and halted. But Sam urged us on, leading the way. As thusfull-armed we pressed forward down stream, he told us in a suppressedvoice how, as he angled and meditated, and there was no sound save thehushed tumult of a little rapid or the recurrent swish of his line,suddenly from the bank behind him rose the angry, blatant growl which heknew for the utterance of a she-bear with cubs. At this he had feltindignant and startled; and, with a terrific yell, had hurled a stoneinto the bushes as a hint that he was a bad man and not to be trifledwith. Thereupon had arisen a roar which put his yell to shame. Theundergrowth had rocked and crashed with the swift approach of themonster; and, filled with penitential misgivings, he had made haste toflee. When we reached the scene of the possible tragedy, however, thebear, or bears, had disappeared. We grieved not greatly for theirabsence.