Winter Adventures of Three Boys - Egerton R. Young (electronic book reader .TXT) 📗

on the trail, and to his surprise and delight they quickly ran it down. He rescued it from them as speedily as possible. It was quite dead, but its beautiful fur was uninjured.

Frank was eager to be off again with old Memotas to see the result of the new method, to him, of trap-setting for a cunning old fox. But Memotas, who was and experienced himself, said:

"Wait one day more yet. That old fox not going to walk into that trap the first day, nor perhaps the second day. You have been well feeding him on plenty of bait, and he not a bit hungry. But when he get hungry perhaps he go prowling round to see if his friend hasn't come with any more bait for him. For foxes get to know traps that seem just set for them to live from."

This was all rather hard on Frank, but he had come to see that it was all true, and so he patiently waited until the old man came in and said he thought perhaps they might go and see if that fox was still playing any of his tricks. The train was soon harnessed, and away they flew over the icy lake, and then into the forest trail. On and on they went, until they came near the spot where the traps had all been set. Every one that Frank had set was sprung and empty, and the one that Memotas had set with such care was missing! Nowhere could Frank see it or any trace of it. Memotas quickly stepped out a hundred feet or so, and then began walking in a circle around the spot. He had not more than half completed the circle before he quickly called to Frank, who at once hurried to his side. Pointing to a peculiar spot in the snow that had been much disturbed, Memotas said:

"I think fox caught with both fore legs in the trap. He is now walking away on his hind legs and holding up the trap in his mouth. See, there he walk on two legs! See, there he rest!" And the old man began to hurry on, closely followed by Frank, to whom he explained every movement the fox had made.

"Must be a fine big fox to get away so far with the trap on both fore feet," said Memotas. "But listen!"

A strange snarling-like sound fell on their ears, and with it something like the fierce yelping of a fiery young dog. Memotas had quickly dropped flat on the ground in the snow, and Frank crouched beside him. The old man whispered to Frank to give him his long hunting knife.

"Some other animal, wild cat perhaps, meet fox, and they fighting. Keep still, I must go back to the sled for the gun."

Without making the slightest noise the old man glided back, and was soon lost to sight.

Fortunately, there was a dense clump of evergreen balsam or spruce trees between the contending animals and Frank. Then they were so absorbed in their own quarrel that they were not very alert in watching for others. However, Frank knew enough to keep perfectly still, although he confessed he clutched the knife several times more firmly as the blood- curdling snarls of the wild cat pierced the air so near. Soon Memotas was back again, and then the question was to get a successful shot at the wild cat, as it was evident the fox was sure enough. At first Memotas crawled forward closer to the trees, the branches of which, laden down with snow, reached to the ground all around. Carefully peering through the dense branches, he gazed intently for a time, and then he silently beckoned Frank to come. Noiselessly he crawled up beside Memotas, and after his eyes had become accustomed to the work he was able to see the two animals not more than two hundred feet away. The two fore legs of the fox were securely fastened in the steel trap, which seemed to have closed on him about four inches up from his feet. The wild cat was a fierce old male, and was doing his best to get a good grip on the fox. This the fox was resolved not to let him have, and so he kept his face toward his foe, and whenever the latter would spring at him the fox would suddenly raise himself, and, throwing up the trap so securely fastened on his fore legs, would bang it down with a whack on the head of the wild cat. With a snarl the cat would suddenly back off and arch up his back and snarl worse than ever. It was the queerest battle that Memotas had ever witnessed, and every time the trap rattled on the head or body of the wild cat the old man fairly quivered with excitement and delight. To Frank the sight was also the oddest and queerest he had ever even heard of. At one skillful parry the fox, although so terribly handicapped, was able to give the cat a whack that sent him fairly sprawling in the snow. At the sight of this Frank had to crowd his fur mitten into his mouth to prevent him from fairly shouting out:

"Well done, old fox!"

Why they remained so in this one open place, Frank now saw, was because the fox was fearful that if he got in among the fallen logs or the rocks the wild cat would have the advantage, and thus succeed in springing upon his back, while he, so hampered, could make but little resistance. All at once Frank saw the animals cease both the attack and their noises. Memotas, quick and alert, suddenly brought his gun into position, and the next instant, as Frank heard the jingling of distant bells, there also rang out the report of the gun, and the wild cat tumbled over dead.

Springing up, Memotas called Frank to follow, and together they quickly hurried after the fox, that was now again desperately striving to get away.

Memotas did not wish to injure the valuable skin by piercing it with a ball, and so, picking up a heavy clublike branch of a tree, he quickly killed the fox without breaking the skin.

A few minutes after Alec drove up along the trail. He had visited his traps and snares, and had decided to take this trail on his way home. His bells were the ones heard by the two fighters. Well was it that Memotas's quick ears also heard them, and that he was able to fire before the wild cat had fled into the forest.

They were soon all on their way home again. The fox was a great beauty, and although it was a cross, yet it was so nearly black that a large sum was given for it.

For many a day after Frank talked and laughed about that oddest of all fights, the one between the trapped fox and the fierce old wild cat.


CHAPTER SIX.

THE WINTER BIRDS OF THE GREAT LONE LAND--THE WHISKY JACK--THE PTARMIGAN--THEIR BEDS IN THE SNOW--MISSION VISITS--CUPID'S DARTS--THE WOOD SUPPLY--PRIMITIVE WAY OF CAPTURING PARTRIDGES--GREAT SNOWY OWLS-- METHODS OF CAPTURE--SAM'S EXPERIENCE--THE FEARFUL GRIP OF THE OWL'S CLAW.

"Where are your singing birds?" said Sam one morning as he came in from having taken Wenonah and Roderick out for a drive with the dogs. "We have travelled over a dozen miles and have not heard a single bird song."

"Only a whisky jack," said Roderick.

This reply of Roderick's made everybody laugh; for the shrill, harsh cry of the Indians' sacred bird, called by the very unpoetical name of whisky jack, is not very musical, but just the reverse.

"Our singing birds are all in the sunny South Land during these cold months," said Mr Ross. "We have multitudes of them during our brief summer time. Then, at the first breath of the Frost King, they flit away and leave us so still and quiet."

"What about this saucy bird, here called whisky jack, that we meet with on all of our wintry journeys?" asked Alec.

"Well," replied Mrs Ross, "you see, in the first place, that he is not very handsome. His bluish-grey plumage is not very attractive, but he has an inner coating of black down, and if you could strip him of both of these jackets you would find him to be a very small bird after all. The Indians used to call him their sacred bird. They never kill one, no matter how hungry they may be. They have some beautiful traditions associated with him. His voice, so harsh and loud, is, according to some legends, the cry of a fair maiden who, fleeing from a hateful suitor, was lost in a blizzard. In vain she called for her own sweetheart, until her once musical voice became so harsh and rough that it lost its beauty. To prevent her from falling into the hands of her hated suitor, just as he was about [to seize] her the magicians changed her, in answer to her prayer, into a bird, and this is the whisky jack."

"Our next most interesting winter bird," said Mr Ross, "is the ptarmigan, or white partridge. The colder the winter the more numerous they seem to be. They are easily snared, like the rabbits, as they have certain favourite runs, and do not seem to observe the twine or wire loops into which they so foolishly run their heads."

"Where do they sleep at nights?" asked little Roderick.

"Faith, and I know," said Sam; "for was I not fairly frightened out of my wits by a lot of them one night when travelling late to the camp to drive over a snowdrift into which they were burying themselves? I saw them fly up high in the air, and then, like a stone, they just shot themselves down and buried themselves out of sight of myself and those who were with me."

"Yes," said Alec, "and I well remember how they startled me several times as they were getting up out of these queer beds in the deep snow away out from the dense woods. It always occurred very early in the morning, shortly after we had left our camps in the woods, where we had spent the night. I could hardly get used to the start they gave me, as sometimes they flew right up from under the feet of my dogs. They seemed like wee ghosts, they were so very white, and my dogs as well as myself were disturbed by their uncanny ways."

"Do they go back to the same snowdrifts night after night?" asked Frank.

"No," said Mr Ross; "they are birds that move around a good deal, and as far as the Indians' observations go the same flock or covey never sleep twice in the same place. If they did the foxes and other animals that are very fond of feeding on them would soon discover their retreats, and would make short work of them."

Thus the days and weeks passed by. Sometimes all the boys, with Mr Ross and a number of Indians, would be away on some great excursion after the bears or beavers. At other times shorter trips would be arranged, when but one or two of the boys would go.

Then there were the home sports