CHAPTER XV
THE POWER OF MUSIC
Dolph could not but watch the actions of his camp mate withconsiderable curiosity and satisfaction, at this stage of the game.
Teddy had had more or less experience in woodcraft, and long agolearned many of the lessons so essential in the make-up of a cleverstill hunter. To him the leaves of the forest spoke as eloquently asprinted pages in a book did to the other canoe cruiser. He could readthe language of the trail, and discover a score of valuable things,from signs that would never be noticed by ordinary eyes or at leastdeemed of no importance.
When an observing lad has spent considerable time in these Northernwoods, the voices of Nature speak to him in the wailing of the windwhispering secrets as it stirs the branches of the pines; he hearsanother story in the thunder tones of the rushing rapids; the crash ofthe summer storm; the whisper of sunrise; the chatter of the littlewoods folks excited over his presence in their favorite haunts—helearns by degrees to match his wits against their cunning, and todiscover every secret connected with their mode of living, so that thecurtain of mystery is rolled away for his eyes, and he lives in a worldtotally unknown to many others of his kind.
Teddy had practiced this art of creeping silently through the woods,when stalking the timid deer, and perhaps also the lordly caribouover in Canada. He certainly had all the little wrinkles downpretty fine—at least Dolph thought so, as he followed in his wake,endeavoring the best way he could to imitate these noiseless movements.
So, foot by foot, and yard by yard, they drew nearer the strange cabin.
As yet not a sound had been heard, to indicate that the place had anyinhabitant; though the light shining from the small opening that mightbe called a window, must be set down as conclusive evidence on thatscore, since lights ordinarily do not spring into existence without theaid of human hands.
Twice Teddy halted until his chum came alongside. Then he would whispera few words in his ear, after which the forward movement would beresumed.
All at once both boys came to a sudden pause, and crouched there,listening to certain sounds that had broken loose.
Plainly these sprang from a fiddle—a violin is unknown by any othername than this, in the backwoods country, where the “fiddler” is alwaysin great demand at the husking bees and barn dances.
Undoubtedly some one was sawing a bow across the catgut strings ofan instrument and it was evident from the chords resulting from thiseffort that the player was no greenhorn.
Teddy pinched the arm of his chum when the latter came alongside, andwhispered, “Amos.”
He had heard the woods boy scrape a bow more than a few times, andrecognized his “touch” instantly. Indeed, Teddy had more than onceregretted that he had decided against the other bringing his old fiddlealong. With it in camp Amos would have been enabled to make many anevening around the fire seem more sociable.
Apparently then, Amos must have discovered some sort of old instrumentin the cabin occupied by Crawley, the trapper and poacher. Overtaken byan irresistible inclination to make music, he had eagerly pounced uponthe same, tuned up, and started in.
The music stopped several times, and a twanging followed. Amosevidently was having more or less trouble in making the old fiddlebehave.
Somehow the sounds thrilled Teddy, and he found himself wondering whatthe result would be. Would the two scoundrels, possibly in hiding closeby, rush upon the scene, and demand that the noise stop forthwith?
After all, why should they do this? It was an object with them to havethe other two boys believe that Amos was being suitably entertained, sothat with suspicions wholly disarmed they would walk innocently intothe trap?
Ah! now the woods boy seemed to fancy that he had tuned the old violinas well as might be done; either that, or else he could no longer holdhis desire to play under bonds.
With a sudden swing of the bow he started into “Money Musk,” always aprime favorite among the loggers in the winter camps, who, in theirtimes of leisure, danced for an hour, and usually to some of these goodold tunes.
Amos was a “good one” with the bow. He could make that fiddle fairlylaugh and weep by turns, as he coaxed the vibrating strings.
Dolph had heard many kinds of music in different corners of thewide world, whither he had traveled with his father. He had sat andlistened to the most famous artists of Europe, and eagerly drank in thesounds as only a true lover of melodious combinations can. He had felthis soul aroused by the grand crash of orchestras led by celebratedcomposers. He had sat through scores of operas, and applauded thefamous song birds, with voices worth thousands of dollars a night tothe fortunate possessors.
And yet this boy could not remember of ever having been so thrilled bythe sound of music in all his life, as when crouching there in thatthicket, just outside the “haunted” cabin, listening to the weirdplaying of his camp mate, Amos.
Say what you will, the surroundings have everything to do with theeffect produced by music. A wild, barbaric crash of tom toms appealsmore effectively to sentiment if heard among the queer lodges of a Zulu“Kraal” in South Africa, than the same strain could ever do under thetowering roof of a London music hall.
So it was in this case. The danger that hovered over them, the state ofNature by which they were surrounded; and the fact that this lonelycabin in the pine woods was said to be haunted by spirits of the deadtrappers—all these things united to thrill the nerves of an excitableboy like Dolph Bradley, and give him the sensation of his life.
The fiddle seemed to moan and laugh and even sob, as the delighted Amosdrew his magic bow over the strings, until the whole vicinity appearedto be filled with strange spirit voices.
Had any wandering basket-making Chippewa Indian, or nomad timbercruiser, his mind filled with an ardent belief in ghosts, chancedto pass within hearing distance of those ramshackle walls on thisparticular night, the chances were he would have fled in abject terror,upon hearing such strange sounds.
When Amos had reached the end of his tune, after repeating the refrainin a minor key, he immediately struck up “Dixie,” and from this whippedoff upon the well-known strains of the “Arkansaw Traveler.”
That air has aroused wild enthusiasm in many a concert hall, but itcertainly never thrilled human hearts more than on this occasion.
Dolph could hardly keep his feet still; while Teddy was drawing himselfalong in the direction of the little window, as though bent uponinvestigating, and seeing for himself if it could be Amos producingthose wondrous strains.
When Teddy presently reached the wall of the old cabin, he raised hishead until his wondering eyes took in the strange scene beyond. It wasso that Dolph found his chum when he, too, reached the spot, to alsostare.
Amos was in plain view, squatted on the floor. He held the end of theold instrument tucked under his chin, regulation fashion, with themost caressing air imaginable. For the time being Amos had apparentlyforgotten his surroundings, forgotten everything else in the world,perhaps, save that after a long lapse he was again happy in being ableto coax those sobbing strings to give out the music he loved so well.
Indeed, just then his eyes were shut, as though he might be in ahalf trance; but Teddy knew this was a favorite habit with the younglumberjack, indicating that he was wrapped up in his playing, and inthe seventh heaven of delight.
But this was not all.
Sitting on a low three-legged stool close by, and leaning forward, withher chin held in her hand, and her big blue eyes fastened upon thefiddler in wonder, was a girl of ten or twelve years of age. She seemedactually fascinated by those wonderful strains which now sprang fromthe instrument that was doubtless often sadly racked by her unculturedfather, in his endeavor to play.
Now, Teddy knew full well about the old story of mermaids temptingluckless mariners to their doom. He also understood that many a traphas been baited with music or a pretty face in times gone by. Buteverything went to tell him that Amos was playing just because he haddiscovered an old fiddle, a
nd not that his captors wanted him to do so.
Indeed this fact was immediately proven, for even as Teddy looked intothe place he detected a movement in the direction of the door, whichswung open, to admit the burly figure of the game poacher, Crawley.
Teddy’s first thought was that the man had become enraged at thisunwarranted outburst of sound from the boy prisoner, and that he hadrushed to the spot to hoarsely demand that the noise cease, on pain ofpunishment.
He even anticipated seeing Crawley foaming at the mouth knowing whata vile temper the greasy old wretch was said to possess. Fearing thatAmos might be in danger of rough handling, Teddy gripped the gun heheld, and instantly resolved to block that little game, if it weretried.
Never was he more mistaken.
Crawley, it is true, came into the cabin with the impetuosity of ahurricane, and his hard face was indeed working with some sort ofemotion, but it was far from anger.
Indeed, the man seemed to be quivering with eagerness, and the handhe stretched out toward the boy on the floor was more indicative ofpleading than wrath.
Crawley was at that moment fairly transformed. Deep down in his roughsoul he must have had a natural love for music which, owing to hisclumsiness and lack of education could never find an adequate outlet.Old sinner that he was, probably he had stood many a time and listenedas if charmed, to some song bird in the brush; and even the cheery callof the bobolink, heard in the early Spring, may have had the power tomake him look up and listen, when in the act of taking a mink or amuskrat from his traps.
Teddy saw this, and greatly marveled. He realized that every day helived it was possible for him to learn something new. Because a manmight be rough and uncouth, and perhaps even lawless in his way ofliving, was no evidence that he might not have a streak of good deepdown in his nature.
In Crawley it was perhaps this passion for music; but Teddy guessed itwas so very deep down, that it was hardly likely to do himself, or anyone else in the world, any good.
Camp Mates in Michigan; or, with Pack and Paddle in the Pine Woods Page 16