A Boy of the Dominion: A Tale of Canadian Immigration
CHAPTER XIV
Moose Hunting
"I'm agoin ter tell you now what's brought me away up here through thebackwoods of New Ontario," said Hank, the very evening he and Joe hadleft the lumber camp and their friends, amongst whom Sam Fennick wasnumbered. "I'm looking fer Beaver Jack."
"Beaver Jack! Who's he?" demanded our hero doubtfully.
"That's what I'm jest about to tell. Beaver Jack aer the cutest,quietest, cussedest Indian that ever you set eyes on, or that everanyone else set eyes on either. He kin talk our language fairly well,and he war for three years or more along with me and my father. That'sa time ago. Of late he's mooned about in the settlements duringsummer, not doing more'n a hand's turn, as is the nature of theRedskin. And winter's found him 'way up north, trappin' and huntin'fer the pelts that keeps him in food during the summer months. BeaverJack and me's old friends, and with him to lead there's a chance of ourstriking a country I've heard of from mates of his. There ain't beenmuch prospecting up in New Ontario, lad, but I've heard there's gold,and gold mines are worth finding."
So that was the secret of this expedition. Hank, a naturally silentman, had said little about his intentions up to date, and Joe had but avague idea as to his real object. For himself, it had been sufficientthat he was to travel through the Canadian wastes with such a pleasantfellow, and experience a life the very mention of which was mostfascinating. It can be imagined, therefore, that he looked forward tothe meeting with Beaver Jack with some anticipation, and hailed thattaciturn Redskin heartily when, two weeks later, they came across him.
"You'd say as it aer fair wonderful that we should meet him right uphere in the wilderness," smiled Hank, as he and Joe prepared for thenight's bivouac. "But Jack aer a long-legged man, and, Injun-like, heturns his toes in. You could tell his mark in the snow amongst athousand, and it ain't much altered even with snowshoes. Seethere--there's my marks, there's yourn, here's Beaver Jack's."
"With a longer distance between each one," agreed Joe. "And the backof each shoe seems to have been trailed along the snow as he went.There's a clean line every time. With you there's much the same, butthe distance between the shoe marks is less, while mine are broken andthe snow is irregularly marked in between."
"So as you could swear to any one of the three any day," said Hank."Now, guess how it war that I steered a course so as to cross histracks."
The question was one of greater difficulty, and Joe found himselfunable to answer. However, the explanation was simple enough when itcame to be given.
"It aer like this," smiled Hank. "Beaver Jack don't never come farinto the settlements, and his line ain't never due north. Reckon heain't fond of coming across other Injuns that way, nor the half-breedsthat live up towards James Bay. So his line's always to the west.Ours being north, and cutting up through the country Beaver Jackcrosses, why, in course we was bound to drop across his tracks. Hadsport this season, Jack?"
The Indian turned slowly upon his questioner and straightened himself,for he had been bending over the narrow sledge upon which he was wontto haul his pelts when their number became too burdensome for carrying.The failing light of a midwinter day fell upon a scarred and seamedface that might have belonged to a man of sixty, of seventy, or even ofeighty. The brows were drawn down over the eyes, the hooked noseapproached closely to the thin, closely-shut lips, while even the chin,square and determined, and yet narrower than is customary with whitemen, appeared to turn up towards the centre of the face. But the eyeswere the feature that attracted one. Small, and set wide apart, theyflashed round at Hank and then at Joe. At one moment they lookedsevere, fierce, almost cruel; the next moment one could have sworn thatthey were twinkling. As for the remainder of this native trapper, hewas clad in skin clothing of his own making. Fringed leggings coveredhis lanky lower limbs, while a shirt of leather, soft and wonderfullypliable and stained with much exposure, was over his shoulders, wideopen at the neck, the sleeves reaching only down to his elbows. Theman pointed slowly to his pile of pelts, and then, as if to speak wouldbe to waste words, bent down over his sledge again and went on with thework that engaged his attention.
"He aer a rare 'un to talk," laughed Hank. "You get almost tired ofhearin' his voice. But he kin hunt, and he aer the best man as ever Icame across for calling up the moose. Know what that means, Joe?"
"Haven't an idea," answered our hero; for even now he was ignorant ofthe ways of hunters.
"Then we'll teach you, me and Jack," said Hank. "Jack, have you seenmoose tracks hereabouts? If there's some of the beasts within twentymile, you ain't likely to have missed them."
The mention of something to do with hunting brought the Indian to anerect position again with remarkable swiftness. He lifted an arm andpointed away to the west, to where the snow-clad landscape reareditself abruptly till, rising to a great height, it cut across thedarkening sky in a succession of jagged peaks, upon which the rays ofthe fallen sun flickered, though the orb itself had long sincedisappeared from sight.
"Moose yard up there," he said abruptly; "plenty beast."
"Then to-morrow we'll see what we kin do with 'em," cried Hank. "Wekin leave our traps 'way down here in this camp, and jest take ourrifles with us. We ain't likely to be back before the night comes, andef we're still out on the hills, why, in course we'll make a campthat'll keep us warm and right till the dawn comes. Now, lad, on withthat kettle; it aer time almost for supper."
Joe's experience of moose hunting had not been so great up to thismoment that he was not keen on a hunt. Once only, in fact, had heencountered this huge, fierce beast of the Canadian forests, and thenthe moose bull may be said to have hunted him. It was, therefore, witha certain amount of elation and excitement that he set off with hiscomrades on the following morning. Leaving their pelts behind in thelean-to--for Joe and Hank had trapped and shot many beasts during thelast two weeks--and taking only rifles and ammunition and ready-cookedfood with them--the three turned their faces towards the west, wherethe land reared itself up suddenly into a long chain of hills whichmight almost be described as mountains. Trudging along in front wentBeaver Jack, as silent as ever, his face always to the front, neverturning his head by so much as an inch, and yet seeing and rememberingevery feature of his surroundings. Joe noted the long swing of hislanky legs, the sliding stride with which he carried his snowshoes fromone part to another, and the manner in which he kicked his shoes fromtime to time. Then came Hank, keen and energetic, his rifle across hisshoulder, his shoes sinking hardly at all into the snow. However, Joefound walking on this occasion somewhat difficult, for the pace theIndian set was terrific, while a mild-tempered wind had softened thesnow which clung to his shoes, making them ponderously heavy.
"Steady!" called Hank, after a while, arresting the rapid progress ofthe Indian. "This here pal of mine are puffin' and blowin'. Yer see,Joe, you ain't so used to snowshoein' as Jack and me, and when there'sa thaw it aer heavy work. But jest you watch Beaver Jack. He gives asorter kick every few steps, and so rids himself of the weight that youhave to carry. We'll rest here a few minutes, and then you kin go infront and so set the pace."
An hour later they began to ascend a little, while within less than twohours the path they were making took them upward at a somewhat abruptangle, which made the work extremely heavy. It was a relief to Joe,therefore, when Hank called another halt, and when Beaver Jack pointedaway along the side of the mountain.
"We ain't likely to find moose much higher," said Hank, seating himselfbeside Joe; "not because it aer too cold for 'em high up, but becausethe stuff they feed on don't grow up there. Seems to me that we've abiggish wood in front of us, and we've got to make right through itbefore we shall come across their tracks. Even then there mayn't beany of the beasts, for ef they happen to have caught sight of us, orwinded us, which aer far more likely, why, the hull crowd will havegone right off. You could shoot a charging moose, lad?"
"I'd try, anyway," answered Joe, mindful of
his previous effort. "Ithink that by now I ought to be able to hold a gun straight, and ifonly I don't get too excited I ought to be able to hit a beast. I'mready to move on if you are."
Once more they began their trudge across the sloping snowfield, Hanknow leading, and presently he plunged into a forest clinging to thehillside. A wide space beyond was devoid of animal life, though BeaverJack declared that moose had recently been across it. Then they divedinto a narrow belt of trees, where the Indian came to a sudden halt.
"Try here," he said. "Not sure, but think beasts near; and if we goon, sure to hear us. Wait little--soon ready."
"Watch him," whispered Hank; "you'll see him set to work as only anIndian can. He's looking about for a birch tree, and with that knifeof his will strip the bark in a matter of a few minutes. I kin tellyou this, give a Redskin a knife and firelock and powder, and he kin goanywhere and make most anything in these forests. Birch bark aer thestuff he puts to roof his lean-to. A long strip cut from an extry bigtree, and shaped and sewn, makes him a canoe that's better than anyother craft known on any water; while, ef it's pots and kettles that'swanted fer cookin', he can fix the business easy with his knife, and solong as there's a tree of the right sort about. See him cut that rollfree. Now, in a jiffy he'll have a trumpet."
Beaver Jack went about his work in a manner which showed that he wasaccustomed to it, and came back towards his comrades bearing a longstrip of bark which he was slowly coaxing into the shape of a funnel.Then with his knife and a few strips of hide cut from the fringes ofhis leggings he tied the edges of the bark, so that the implement hehad fashioned retained its shape. A little later he bent his lankyform, applied the smaller end of the funnel to his mouth, and blewheavily into it. The lines across forehead and face became evendeeper. To look at the Indian one would have declared that he was inagony, and no doubt he was making a special effort. The result wastruly wonderful. Joe had heard moose calling before, the sounds theymade echoing through the forest. And here the calls were repeated,more loudly, it is true, since they were meant to pass to a distance,but wonderfully realistic and lifelike.
"Now listen," said Hank, in a whisper. "Ef there's a moose bull withintwo mile of this he'll answer."
The long, deep-toned call produced by Beaver Jack with the aid of hisbirch-bark trumpet was answered by a deadly silence that nothing broke,and though the call was repeated, it appeared as if the result was tobe similar. But suddenly the Indian stirred, while Joe saw Hank's eyesconcentrate themselves upon the forest. Then, far off, there came adismal echo of the sound, as if the hillside were casting it back atthe hunters. At once, without so much as a word, the Redskin slunk offinto the forest, Hank and Joe following closely.
"You kin look for a burst of speed," whispered Hank hurriedly, turninghis head. "There's a moose bull 'way ahead, and Beaver Jack aer goingnearer so as to coax him. Jest make sure as you don't knock that rifleagainst the trees, or else there won't be much huntin'."
Silent after that, with hardly a glance to left or to right, the threepushed on through the wood, Beaver Jack choosing, as if by instinct, apath that avoided thick underwood, and allowed himself and his comradesto retain their snowshoes. Slowly the trees diminished in number, tillthey straggled out into the open in broken groups of two and three, andfinally singly, scattered here and there over a wide field of snow thatseemed to be unbroken and unmarked by beasts of any description. Tothe left the hills reared their heads abruptly, snow-covered to thesummits, grey and forbidding, as if they resented the coming of thesestrangers. Ah! The Redskin had lifted a hand; he came to a halt.
"He aer going to call agin," whispered Hank, who seemed to be tinglingwith excitement. "Ain't that 'ere Beaver Jack clever?"
None but an expert could, in fact, have produced the impression thisseamed and lined Indian contrived at. That long, deep-toned call,rising and falling in cadence and halting abruptly, as if onlyhalf-completed, went booming across the snowy waste, and echoed amongstthe pinnacles above. It was followed by a second call, the tone ofwhich was distinctly angry, as if the beast summoning its own kind werevexed at the want of an answer. Then, as the same faint response cameto their ears--but this time distinctly nearer--a plaintive note creptinto the summons which Beaver Jack produced with the aid of histrumpet, till one would have said that even the most heartless oflisteners would have dashed forward promptly. But your moose isperhaps one of the wariest of beasts. Gifted with acute hearing andstill more pronounced sense of smell, he is almost always suspicious.The least doubt as to the genuineness of a call, the faintest suspicionof the presence of others, will keep him sulking in the background,hidden by the trees, or will send him dashing off madly, his hugeantlers steered with wonderful skill between the branches, so that notso much as a sound might help a would-be pursuer. It seemed as if theone in the far distance were of this character, as if he weresuspicious. It made no difference to his movements even when BeaverJack, working himself almost into a frenzy with his efforts, producedmore mournful sounds, and then struck the tree trunk beside himheavily. Still the answering response was weak-toned and far off.
"He ain't coming, that's truth," whispered Hank. "We shall have to getalong towards him, and this time we shall have to creep over everyyard. Ef the brute does come, you shoot, Joe. I've had many a chance;so's Jack. Take him jest below the point of the shoulder."
Joe gripped his rifle with both hands, and saw that the safety catchwas in position; then he fixed his eyes on his two companions. Nor wasit long before there was a movement. Beaver Jack bent double and,thrusting the muzzle of his weird birch trumpet into the snow, sentforth a challenge which seemed to skim curiously over the hillside andburst into bigger volume in the distance. Then he dropped on to handsand knees, having already kicked off his snowshoes and slung them overhis shoulders. A second later he was creeping away amidst thescattered trees, casting more than one glance over his shoulder.
"This aer a fair conundrum," whispered Hank to Joe, when the littleparty again came to a standstill. "I've hunted moose many a time, and,as a rule, ef there ain't no wind, as is the case jest now, and ahunter aer cautious, there ain't no great difficulty in coming up withthem. Of course it isn't every Indian who can call, let alone a whiteman. A Redskin is kinder born to it, and most of 'em can call same asef they was real moose. Guess Beaver Jack aer one of 'em. But lookwhat's happenin' to-day. There's no getting nearer the beast that'sanswered. He's heard our call and has challenged back, but he goes offa bit every time we move forward."
"Perhaps there's something else disturbing him," ventured Joe, somewhatbaffled for an answer, cautiously raising his lips to Hank's ear. "Inotice that Beaver Jack has looked over his shoulder once or twice asif he thought there might be something behind us. Perhaps he's heard acall from that direction."
"Nary a one. Ef there had been I'd have heard it," asserted Hank, withdecision; "but there may be beasts following. Ef it warn't fer thesnow you could hear 'em by listening closely with an ear to the groundor placed hard up agin the trunk of one of the trees. But snow mufflesmost sounds, especially footsteps. Ah! That 'ere beast called from apoint a little closer."
Whatever the cause of their want of success, Beaver Jack and Hank werenot the men to give up the chase without a further effort, and withoutsome show of that wonderful patience for which hunters are notorious.Time and again the Redskin repeated his call, and on a dozen occasionsthe trio went forward, crawling over the snow on their stomachs. Atlength, when Joe's small stock of patience was almost exhausted, theanswering call came from a point distinctly nearer.
"That 'ere bull aer fair bothered," observed Hank, as Beaver Jack againburied the muzzle of his trumpet. "He aer been retreating all thiswhile, and now it seems to me as ef he'd made up his mind that thingswas square, and had come towards us at a gallop. Ef he charges, don'twait too long. Give him a shot, and then ram in a cartridge."
It was perhaps some ten minutes later that the undergrowth c
lamberingabout the stems of a thick clump of evergreen pines three hundred yardsfrom the hunters was suddenly rent asunder, and there emerged into theopen two gigantic animals, the moose bull ahead and his consort behindhim. As for the former, Joe could even at that distance see that hisshort mane was bristling, while his head was thrown upward, his antlersbeing carried high in the air, while one fore leg was poised, as if hewere in the very act of galloping forward.
"Hah!" Joe heard Hank grunt. "That aer the meaning of the mystery.That 'ere bull has gone on retreating till he felt as ef he were boundto go no farther, as ef, in fact, he'd be a coward ef he didn't turnand face the danger. You kin look out for trouble."
Click! went the safety catch of Joe's rifle. He swung it into positionand, taking careful aim, pulled the trigger. Almost at once there camea snorting grunt from the moose bull. The beast threw his fore legsinto the air and stood there poised for the instant. A second later hehad launched himself against the little group of hunters, and camecharging towards them at a speed which was terrific.
"Agin!" cried Hank, his eyes gleaming, while his fingers closed roundhis own weapon. Up went our hero's gun again, and once more his eyeranged along the sights. But he never pulled the trigger, for, of asudden, there came a loud report from behind him, while somethingstruck the snow three yards in rear and ricochetting from the surfacewent humming and screaming over his head. Then came a second shot,falling almost on the self-same spot, while the powdered snow drivenupward by the bullet swept against his face in a thick cloud whichalmost blinded him. Sweeping the crystals away with one hand, hestared across the open, while Hank's sharp tones roused him from theform of stupor into which he had fallen.
"Git loaded," he commanded shortly, "and soon as you've given 'em ashot, run back where that 'ere moose has bolted. Reckon there's a packof half-breeds after us."
The sharp snap of his weapon was heard instantly, and was followed by ashot from Beaver Jack's rifle. Then Joe, wrestling with the excitementinto which this sudden interference had thrown him, levelled his ownweapon at the foremost of two dog sleighs dashing across the opentowards them, and steadily pulled the trigger.
"On snowshoes," cried Hank sharply. "Now, Beaver Jack, you kin takepost behind us. You're the best when it comes to huntin', but whenthere's a ruction same as this is, guess Hank ain't in need of nocoaching. Joe, you come second. Ef they gets much closer, you've tokeep a tree between you and them most of the time, and ef they lookslike heading us, why, in course we shall have to look lively to find asuitable place to hold, and must get to and fight 'em."
He turned without further warning, and with his rifle trailed in onehand dashed across the snow towards the thick clump of evergreens fromwhich the bull moose had so lately put in an appearance. As for thebeast and his consort, both had turned at the sound of that far-offshot and had dashed away at a pace which took them out of sight withina minute. It was but a few seconds later when the same evergreensclosed about the figures of our hero and his comrades.
"We've got to search for thick forest all the while," called Hanksoftly over his shoulder. "Then those dog sleighs won't be able tomake much pace, and so won't easily come up to us. Gee, this aer a do!I reckoned all the while as there was something queer happenin',something that that bull moose kinder scented and yet warn't sure of.This aer a fair business."
The sudden change in the fortunes of the little party was indeedextraordinary and inexplicable. Had either of the three been asked thequestion that morning, they would have declared that to the best oftheir belief there was not another living human being within a radiusof perhaps a hundred miles. Yet see what had happened. Ever since anearly hour that morning two sleighs, drawn by dogs, had been followingtheir tracks up to the hills and along the elevated ground they hadtaken. Figures wrapped in skin garments much the same as Beaver Jackwore had trudged beside the sleighs, whirling their whips now and againabove the heads of the teams they were driving. Then, coming to thatopen space across which the chase had taken our hero and his friends,these strangers had leaped on to their sleighs and had come across thefrozen surface at a rattling pace that brought them within long rifleshot of the hunters as Joe was in the very act of achieving a triumph.When the latter turned, having narrowly escaped two bullets, it was toperceive the two sleighs being driven rapidly forward, one some tenfeet in advance of the other. Instantly his eyes were attracted to theformer; for in front sat a huddled figure, above whose head along-lashed whip swirled and cracked, while behind there stood a burlyman balancing himself wonderfully, and with rifle at his shoulder.
Who could he be? What was the cause of this sudden and unprovokedattack? From whence had come these men who had sprung upon the sceneso unexpectedly? No wonder that Hank was troubled. Beaver Jack'sseamed and heavily-lined face displayed not the smallest surprise orvexation; but Joe's features were a study. There was anger on hisface; his lips were firmly pressed together. His bull-dog chin was, ifanything, a little squarer than usual.
"Gee!" he cried. "Well, I'm jiggered."