Frank in the Woods
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“What’s the matter with the dog, I wonder?” said Frank, patting the animal’s head, and endeavoring to encourage him.
“I don’t know,” answered Harry, clutching his gun more firmly; “he must have seen or scented some wild animal. Perhaps it would be safer to go back a little way. I shouldn’t like the idea of meeting a bear or panther;” and Harry began to retreat.
“Hold on,” said Frank; “don’t be in a hurry. If it is a panther, we are certainly a match for him. Our guns are loaded with buck-shot.”
“I know it; but if I should see one of the ‘varmints,’ as Dick calls them, I should be so excited that I couldn’t shoot at all. I think we had better” —
“Hush!” interrupted Frank. “Don’t you hear something?”
The boys listened, and a faint cry, like the yelping of a pack of hounds, was borne to their ears.
“It can’t be dogs,” said Frank, “for if it was, Brave would not have been so frightened; besides, it does not sound exactly like them, and I know of no hunter in this part of the country that keeps hounds.”
“I wonder if that is what Brave heard?” said Harry.
“It must be,” replied Frank, watching the motions of his dog, which appeared to grow more excited as the sound came nearer. “I would like to know what it is.”
“We shall soon find out, for it seems to be coming this way. Let’s hide behind some of these trees.”
The boys, accordingly, concealed themselves, and waited impatiently, with a great deal of anxiety, for the animals to come in sight. Louder and louder grew the noise, and Harry, turning to his companion, with blanched cheeks, exclaimed:
“It’s the cry of a pack of wolves. Let’s get away from here.”
“O, no,” said Frank. “They must be in pursuit of something. Let us wait and see what it is.”
There was something appalling in the sound, which now began to echo loudly through the woods, and it was no wonder that Harry wished to retreat. Even Brave, although he was a very courageous dog, seemed struck with terror, and crept up behind his master, as if endeavoring to get out of sight. But Frank, with his usual recklessness, determined to stand his ground as long as possible.
The wolves seemed to be running directly toward them, and the boys held their guns to their shoulders, ready to shoot the first one that appeared. In a few moments there was a crashing in the bushes, and a white object was seen gliding among the trees, while behind him followed a pack of a dozen wolves. They ran with their ears laid close back to their heads, and their mouths open, displaying frightful rows of teeth. Frank gazed at them a moment, and then turned his attention to the game. Could he believe his eyes! It was a white buck. He was running at the top of his speed; but his tongue was hanging out of his mouth, and his legs were horribly lacerated by the sharp crust, into which he sank at every step. He was evidently almost tired out, and the wolves were gaining on him rapidly. Frank had often heard of white deer, but had never seen one before, and he determined to take a hand in the affair, and, if possible, rescue the buck from his pursuers.
“Shoot the wolves, Harry,” he exclaimed, “and save the deer. We want him ourselves.”
“Don’t shoot – don’t,” urged Harry. “The wolves will turn on us.”
But it was too late. Frank’s gun was at his shoulder in an instant, and the foremost of the pack leaped high in the air, and fell to the ground, dead. The others stopped and ravenously attacked their fallen comrade, and in a moment every vestige of him had disappeared. The white buck kept on his way, and soon disappeared from their sight.
“Shoot ’em, Harry,” exclaimed Frank, excitedly, turning to his companion, who stood holding his gun in his hand, and gazing at the wolves as though he had suddenly been deprived of all action; “shoot ’em, and don’t be standing there like a bump on a log. They’ll pitch into us, sure, and the more we kill now, the less we shall have to deal with by-and-by.”
This seemed to bring Harry back to his senses, and he hurriedly raised his gun to his shoulder and endeavored to cover one of the wolves with the sight. But he was trembling violently, and his gun swayed about like a leaf in a storm.
“Why don’t you shoot?” exclaimed Frank.
Harry pressed the trigger, and the loud yell that followed showed that the shot had not been thrown away. One of the wolves was severely wounded. Maddened by the pain, he dashed toward the place where the boys were standing, followed by the whole pack.
“Take to a tree, quick!” exclaimed Frank, who began to be surprised at his own coolness; “it’s our only chance. Be sure and keep a good hold of your gun.” Suiting the action to the word, he swung himself into the lowest branches of a small pine that stood near, and, reaching down, seized Brave by his long hair and pulled him up after him. It was slow climbing among the thick branches, with a gun in one hand and a dog nearly as heavy as himself in the other; and he had scarcely ascended out of reach before the wolves were around the tree. Several of the pack leaped among the branches, and made desperate efforts to reach him, while their dismal howls made his blood run cold.
“Hold on, down there,” muttered Frank. “Wait until I get Brave fixed, and then I’ll soon be even with you.”
After feeling in all his pockets, he found a stout strap, with which he tied his dog fast to the branches, so that he would not fall down among the wolves.
“I say, Frank, where are you?” shouted Harry, from his tree.
“Here I am,” answered Frank. “Are you all right?”
“Yes; but I had a narrow escape, I tell you. The wolves pulled off one of my boots as I was climbing up this tree. You’re always getting a fellow into some scrape or other, ain’t you?”
“I don’t call this much of a scrape,” answered Frank. “We’re safe, at any rate.”
“I know it,” replied Harry, who seemed to be regaining his courage. “But we may have to stay up here a week.”
“No we won’t – not if our ammunition holds out,” answered Frank, pushing his gun through the branches of the tree. “I’m going to commence shooting them.”
“That’s a good plan; I did not think of that.”
The report of Harry’s gun followed his words, and feeling safe in his tree, he made a good shot, the largest of the wolves receiving the entire charge in his head. The boys continued to load and fire until the last wolf was killed, when they dropped down from the trees, and took a survey of their work. Nine wolves were lying dead on the snow, which was saturated with blood, and a tenth was endeavoring to crawl away on two legs. Brave immediately commenced a battle with him, but the wolf had plenty of fight left in him, and was killed only after a hard struggle.
“Now,” said Frank, “let’s follow up that white buck. I would give almost any thing to catch him alive. He is pretty well tired out, and can’t run far.”
“Lead on, then,” said Harry; “but, if Dick was here, he would say it was no use. You know hunters are inclined to be superstitious about such things.”
The boys had often heard extravagant stories told about the incredible speed and tenacity of life possessed by white deer, and had heard old hunters say that it was impossible to kill or capture them. But Frank was not superstitious. He could not see why a white deer should be so widely different from one of the ordinary color. At all events, he determined to make an attempt to capture the white buck – which would make a valuable addition to his museum. So, leaving the wolves where they had fallen, he led the way along the trail, which could be easily followed by the blood on the snow. They had run nearly a mile, when they discovered the white buck a short distance ahead of them, making his way slowly through the snow, and staggering as though he were scarcely able to keep his feet.
“There he is,” exclaimed Frank, joyfully. “Catch him, Brave.”
The dog was off in an instant, and although the buck made an effort to run, he was speedily overtaken, and pulled down without a show of resistance. The boys hurried forward to secure their captive, which struggled desperately as they approached. But at length Frank succeeded in fastening his belt around his neck. The buck staggered to his feet, and, after a few ineffectual attempts to escape, seemed to submit to his fate, and suffered himself to be led toward the cabin. He was one of the most noble specimens of the common deer that the boys had ever seen. He stood nearly five feet high at the shoulders, and his head was crowned with antlers, which Frank had learned, from experience, would prove no mean weapons in a fight. He was evidently an “old settler,” and had seen some stirring times during his life, for his body was almost covered with scars. They reached the camp without any mishap, and Harry brought from the cabin a long rope with which the captive was fastened to a tree. After a short struggle, during which the boys received some pretty severe scratches from the buck’s sharp hoofs, his legs were rudely bandaged, and he was left to himself.
After a hastily-eaten dinner, the boys returned to the scene of their late fight with the wolves, to procure some of the skins, which Frank wished to mount in his museum. They got back to the cabin just before dark, and found Dick leaning on his long rifle, and closely examining the buck. Useless was seated at his side, and near him lay three otter-skins, which they had captured during the day.
“See here, youngsters,” exclaimed the trapper, as the boys came up, “what’s all this yere?”
“O, that’s our day’s work,” replied Frank.
“Give us your hands, youngsters,” continued Dick. “Shoot me if you hain’t done somethin’ that I tried all last winter to do an’ couldn’t. If I shot at that buck onct, I shot at him twenty times. Do you see that scar on his flank? I made that. An’ there’s another on his neck. When I hit him there I thought I had him sure; for he war throwed in his tracks, an’ when Useless come up to grab him, he war up an’ off like a shot. If you war with some trappers I know, they would tell you to cut that rope an’ let him get away from here as fast as he could travel. Some fellers think these yere white deer have got the Evil One in ’em.”
“O, that’s all nonsense,” said Frank; “a white deer isn’t a bit different from any other, only in the color.”
“That’s what I used to tell ’em,” said Dick. “But this yere is my day’s work,” he added, lifting the otter-skins from the ground; “and a good one it is, too. But five mile back the woods are full of otter, an’ a little further on is a beaver-dam – eight houses in it – forty beaver at the least kalkerlation.”
As the trapper finished speaking, he shouldered his rifle and led the way into the cabin, where a fire was soon started, and some choice pieces of venison, which had been brought in by him were laid on the coals to broil. In a few moments, George and Archie entered, and the latter inquired:
“Who caught that white buck?”
Frank gave him the desired information, and also related their adventure with the wolves; when Archie continued:
“I’m glad you caught him, for you always wanted one for your museum. We came near catching a black fox for you.”
“A black fox!” repeated the trapper.
“Yes; the largest one I ever saw,” said George. “He’s black as a coal – hasn’t got a white hair on him, except the very tip of his tail.”
“I know him,” answered the trapper. “Him an’ Useless had more’n one race last winter. You found his trail down by that little creek that runs through that deep hollow.”
“Yes,” answered Archie.
“An’ lost it up here in the woods but two mile back.”
“Yes,” said Archie again.
“An’ that’s the way you’ll keep doin’ as often as you chase him. You can’t ketch him. He’s an ole one in these parts, an’ I guess he’ll stay here till he dies a nat’ral death.”
“No, I’ll be shot if he does,” said Archie, decidedly, as he deposited his gun on a couple of pegs in one corner of the cabin, and began to divest himself of his overcoat. “I’ve got a dog that was never fooled yet. There was a fox that used to live on Reynard’s Island, a short distance from Lawrence, and he had been chased by all the best dogs in the country; but the first time he got Sport on his trail, he was a gone sucker. I’m going to start out early to-morrow and try that black fox again, and if I don’t catch him the first day, I’ll try him the next, and keep it up till I do succeed. I don’t mean to leave these woods without him.”
“Then you’d better send home for plenty of grub,” said the trapper, “for you’ll have to stay here all winter.”
“Supper’s ready,” said Frank; and this announcement cut short the conversation.
CHAPTER VII
A Midnight Attack
AFTER supper, the hunters stretched themselves out on their blankets around the fire; but the usual evening conversation was omitted. Their day’s work had fatigued them all, and soon their regular breathing told that sleep had overpowered them.
About midnight Frank, who slept away from the fire, and almost against the door, was aroused by a slight noise outside the cabin, like the stealthy tread of some animal in the snow. He had begun to acquire something of a hunter’s habits, and the noise, slight as it was, aroused him in an instant. The dogs had also heard it, for they stood looking at the door, with every hair sticking toward their heads, but without uttering a sound. Frank reached for his gun, which hung on some pegs just above his head, and at that moment he heard a sound resembling the “wheeze” of a glandered horse.
“Bars and buffaler!” exclaimed Dick, suddenly arousing from a sound sleep, and drawing his long hunting-knife, which he always carried in his belt; “there’s a painter around here somewhere – I’m sartin I heered the sniff of one.”
“I heard something,” replied Frank, “but I didn’t know what it was.”
By this time all the inmates of the cabin were aroused, and there was a hurried reaching for guns, and a putting on of fresh caps.
“Lend me your rifle, Dick,” said Frank, “and I’ll shoot him. I have never killed a panther.”
“Wal, don’t be keerless, like you generally are,” said the trapper, handing him the weapon. “Be keerful to shoot right between his eyes. Hist – I’ll be shot if the varmint ain’t a pitchin’ into the white buck – he are, that’s sartin!”
As Dick spoke there was a violent rustling in the bushes, and a sound as of a heavy body falling on the snow. Then there was a slight struggle, and all was still again. Frank quickly threw open the door, and hunters and dogs all rushed out together. It was very dark; but Frank, who was in advance of his companions, could just distinguish a black object crouching in the snow near the tree where the white buck had been fastened. In an instant his rifle was at his shoulder, and as the whip-like report resounded through the woods, the panther uttered a howl that sounded very much like the voice of a human being in distress, and, with one bound, disappeared in the bushes.
The quick-scented dogs found his trail in a twinkling. Guided by their barking, the hunters followed after them as rapidly as possible, in hopes that the dogs would soon overtake the panther and compel him to take to a tree. Running through a thick woods in a dark night is not a pleasant task; and the hunters made headway very slowly. But at length they came up with three of the dogs, which were standing at the foot of a large tree, barking furiously. Brave was nowhere to be seen.
“I shouldn’t wonder if the varmint war up here,” said the trapper, walking around the tree and peering upward into the darkness. “No he ain’t, neither,” he continued. “Useless, ye’re fooled for onct in your life. You see, youngsters, where that big limb stretches out? Wal, the painter ran out on that, an’ has got out of our way.”
“I wonder where Brave is?” said Frank, anxiously.
“That ar is a hard thing to tell,” answered the trapper. “The varmint may have chawed him up too, as well as the white buck.”
“If he has,” said Frank, bitterly, “I won’t do any thing all the rest of my life but shoot panthers. Hold on! what’s that?” he added, pointing through the trees.
“It looks mighty like somethin’ comin’ this way,” said Dick. “Turn me into a mullen-stalk if I don’t believe it’s the painter! He’s creepin’ along a’most on his belly.”
In an instant four guns were leveled at the approaching object, and the boys were about to fire, when the trapper, who had thrown himself almost flat on the snow, to obtain a better view of the animal, heard a suppressed whine. Springing to his feet, he knocked up the weapons, and quietly said,
“I guess I wouldn’t shoot, boys. That’s the dog comin back. I shouldn’t wonder if he had been follerin’ the painter all alone by himself.”
The boys lowered their guns, and, in a few moments, to the infinite joy of Frank, Brave came up. He crawled slowly and with difficulty toward his master, and the hunters could see that he had been severely handled. He had several long, ugly wounds on his body, which were bleeding profusely.
“Wal, I’ll be shot!” exclaimed the trapper, “if that ar fool of a dog didn’t tackle the painter! He ought to knowed better. The varmint could chaw him up in two minits. Useless here wouldn’t have thought o’ doin’ sich a thing. But it’ll do no good for us to stay here, so we might as well travel back to the shantee. Ye’re minus a white buck, Frank,” he continued, as he led the way through the woods.
The young naturalist made no reply, for it was a severe blow to him. He had anticipated a great deal of pleasure in taming the white buck, and in showing him to his friends, and relating the circumstances of his capture. But the panther had put an end to these anticipations; and Frank determined, as long as he remained in the woods, to wage a merciless war against all his tribe.
A few moments’ walk brought the hunters to the cabin, and they went at once to the place where they had left the white buck. The panther had torn an ugly-looking hole in his throat, and he was stone dead. It was evident, from the position in which he lay, that the panther had endeavored to drag him away, but was prevented by the rope and the timely interference of the hunters. As regrets were useless, Frank and his cousin carried the remains of the buck into the cabin. After fastening the door and replenishing the fire, the hunters again sought their blankets.
The next morning they were stirring long before daybreak, and Archie busied himself in removing the skin of the white buck, while his cousin, who was impatient to commence his war upon the panthers, was employed in cleaning his gun and sharpening his hunting-knife. Brave seemed to understand that something unusual was on hand. In spite of the rough treatment he had received the night before, he appeared to have plenty of spirit left in him still, and acted as though he were impatient to be off.
“Dick, will you lend me your trap?” inquired Frank, after he had finished his breakfast, and was preparing to set out.
“The ‘Ole Settler’ do you mean?” asked the trapper. “Sartin I will. Goin’ to ketch the painter, ain’t you?”
“Yes; I’m going to try. I must have at least three panther-skins to make up for the killing of the white buck. He was worth more to me than my entire museum.”
“Wal,” said Dick, as he handed Frank the trap, “if you can get him to stick his foot in the ‘Ole Settler,’ he’s yourn, an’ no mistake. That ar trap sticks tighter nor a brother when it gets a hold o’ any thing. Now, be mighty keerful o’ yourself.”
“All right,” answered Frank. “I’ll have something to show you when I come back.”
He set out, with Brave as his only companion. The trapper did not accompany him, for the reason that he had work of his own to attend to; and besides, although he was constantly scolding and finding fault with Frank for his “carelessness,” he was proud of his courage, and admired the spirit that prompted this somewhat hazardous undertaking, and wished to allow him to reap all the honors himself. Archie and George did not go, for they were very anxious to visit their traps, and see whether there were any foxes in them. They did not like the idea of panther-hunting, and had tried every means in their power to induce Frank to abandon his project. Harry thought at first that he would be delighted to go, but, on reflection, he remembered his adventure with the wolves, and was fearful of another similar “scrape.” So, as we have said, Frank started out alone, with nothing on which to depend except the faithful Brave, and his own courage and skill as a marksman. He was well enough acquainted with the woods, and the animals that inhabited them, to know that there was danger in the undertaking; but he thought only of the disappointment he had suffered in the death of the white buck, and the pleasure there would be in seeing the panther that had killed him stuffed and mounted in his museum.
He followed the same course the panther had taken the night before, until he reached the place where the animal had taken to the tree and escaped, Here the trail, of course, ended; but Brave had no difficulty in finding it again, and from this Frank concluded that he must have seen the panther jumping from tree to tree, and had followed him, until the latter, seeing that he was pursued by only one of his enemies, had descended to the ground and given battle, which had, of course, ended in Brave’s defeat.
After a careful examination, Frank could discover but three foot-prints in the trail, which looked as though some one had endeavored to obliterate it, by drawing a heavy stick over it. He could not account for this, but he knew, by the blood on the snow, that the panther had been severely wounded by the shot he had fired at him; so, without stopping to make any more observations, he ordered Brave to “Hunt ’em up.”
The dog immediately set off on the trail, and Frank kept as close to him as possible. The panther had made good use of his time, for they followed the trail until almost four o’clock in the afternoon, without coming up with him. In the excitement of the chase, Frank had not thought of stopping to eat his dinner, and he was both tired and hungry. A few moments’ rest, and a piece of the cold venison and bread, with which his haversack was well stored, he thought would enable him to follow the trail until dark. He began to look around to find a good place to build a fire, when a loud bark from Brave drove all such thoughts out of his mind, and he ran forward to the place where the dog was standing, and suddenly came in sight of the panther, which had killed a wild turkey, and was crouching at the foot of a tree, just ready to begin his meal.
One of his hind-legs was entirely useless, having been broken by the shot from the rifle; and that it was which had given that peculiar look to his trail. How he had managed to climb so many trees, and travel such a distance, with his leg in that condition, Frank could not imagine. But he was not allowed much time to make observations, for the panther crouched lower over his prey, and lashed his sides with his tail, as if about to spring toward him. He was within easy range, and Frank cocked both barrels of his gun, and slowly raised the weapon to his shoulder. His hand could not have been more steady if he had been aiming at a squirrel. He glanced along the clean, brown tubes for a moment, and fired both barrels in quick succession. The gun had been heavily loaded, in order to “make sure work” of the panther, and the immense recoil threw Frank flat on his back. When he recovered his feet, he saw the panther stretched out motionless on the ground. The buck-shot had done its work.
CHAPTER VIII
A Couple of New Pets
FRANK was a big-feeling boy just then. He knew that he had done something that many an older person than himself would hesitate to undertake. He was fast becoming accustomed to scenes of excitement and danger, and he thought only of the feat he had accomplished, and not of the perilous position in which he had placed himself but a few moments before. What if his gun had missed fire, or he had only wounded the panther? How long could he and Brave have withstood his attacks? The panther would certainly have conquered them. And what could he have done if he had been disabled in the depths of those woods, so far from any human being? Such questions as these passed through the reckless young hunter’s mind, but he dismissed them with the thought that the panther was dead, and that he had nothing to fear.