CHAPTER XL
CHARLIE GOES HUNTING
Blood River Jack halted suddenly in his journey from the bunk-house tothe grub-shack and sniffed the air.
He dropped the butt of his rifle to the hard-packed snow of theclearing and glanced upward, where a thin sprinkling of stars winkedfeebly in the first blush of morning.
The dark sky was cloudless, and the trees stood motionless in thegloom, which slowly dissipated where the first faint light ofapproaching day grayed the east. The air was dry and cold, but with nosting of crispness. The chill of it was the uncomfortable, penetratingchill that renders clothing inadequate, yet brings no tingle to theexposed portions of the body.
Again the man sniffed the dead air and, swinging the rifle into thecrook of his elbow, continued toward the grub-shack.
Appleton and Sheridan accepted without remonstrance the guide'sprediction of a storm and retired to the "house," as the rooms in whichthe party was quartered had come to be known--not entirely unthankfulfor a day of rest.
The crew went into the timber, as usual; the guide retired to his bunkfor a good snooze; and young Charlie Manton, tiring of listening toDaddy Dunnigan's yarns, prowled about the camp in search of amusement.
Entering the bunk-house, his attention was attracted by the loudsnoring of Blood River Jack, and his eye fell upon the half-breed'srifle and cartridge-belt, which reposed upon the floor just beneath theedge of his bunk.
The boy crept close, his soft moccasins making no sound, until he waswithin reach of the gun, when he dropped to the floor and lifted it inhis hands. For many minutes he sat upon the floor examining the rifle,turning it over and over.
At length he reached for the cartridge-belt, and buckling it about hiswaist, left the room as noiselessly as he had entered and, keeping thebunk-house in line with the window of the cook-shack, slippedunobserved into the timber.
Upon his hunting expeditions with the others, Charlie had not beenallowed to carry a high-power rifle. It was a sore blow to his pridethat his armament had consisted of a light, twenty-gauge shotgun, whosepossibilities for slaughter were limited to rabbits, spruce-hens, andptarmigan.
Farther and farther into the timber he went, avoiding the outreachingskidways and the sound of axes. Broad-webbed snow-shoe rabbits leapedfrom under foot and scurried away in the timber, and the whir of anoccasional ptarmigan or spruce-hen passed unheeded.
He was after big game. He would show Uncle Appleton that he _could_handle a rifle; and maybe, if he killed a buck or a wolf or a bobcat,the next time he went with them he would be allowed to carry aman's-size weapon.
An hour's tramp carried him to the bank of the river at a point severalmiles below the camp, where he seated himself upon a rotten log.
"Blood River Jack just wanted to sleep to-day, so he told 'em it wasgoing to storm," he soliloquized as he surveyed the narrow stretch ofsky which appeared above the snow-covered ice of the river.
But somehow the sky did not look as blue as it had; it was a sicklyyellow color now, like the after-glow of a sunset, and in the center ofit hung the sun--a dull, copper sun, with uneven, red edges which lostthemselves in a hazy aureola of yellowish light.
The boy glanced uneasily about him. The woods seemed uncannily silent,and the air thick and heavy, so that the white aisle of the riverblurred into dusk at its farther reaches.
It grew darker, a peculiar fuliginous darkness, which was not of thegloom of the forest. Yet no smell of smoke was in the air, and in thesky were no clouds.
"Looks kind of funny," thought the boy, and glanced toward the river.Suddenly all thought of the unfamiliar-looking world fled from hisbrain, for there on the snow, not twenty yards distant, half crouched along, gray body with the claws of an uplifted forefoot extended, andcruel, catlike lips drawn into a hideous snarl.
The other forefoot rested upon the limp, furry body of a rabbit, andthe great, yellow-green eyes glowed and waned in the dimming light,while the sharply tufted ears worked forward and back in quick, nervoustwitches.
"A _loup-cervier_," whispered the boy, and slowly raised Blood RiverJack's rifle until the sights lined exactly between the glowing eyes.He pulled the trigger and, at the sharp metallic click with which thehammer descended upon the firing-pin, the brute seized the rabbitbetween its wide, blunt jaws and bounded away in long leaps.
Hot tears of disappointment blurred the youngster's eyes and trickleddown his cheeks--he had forgotten to load the rifle, and his handstrembled as he hurriedly jammed the long, flask-shaped cartridges intothe magazine and followed down to the river on the trail of the bigcat.
He remembered as he mushed along on his small rackets that Bill hadtold him of a rocky ledge some five or six miles below camp, and hadpromised to take him to this place where the _loup-cerviers_ had theirdens among the rocks.
The trail held to the river, whose banks rose more abruptly as heproceeded, and at length, as he rounded a sharp bend, he could make outdimly through the thickening air the outline of a high rocky bluff; buteven as he looked, the ledge was blotted out by a quick flurry of snow,and from high among the tree-tops came a long, wailing moan of wind.
The trees pitched wildly in the icy blast; the moan increased to amighty roar, and the air was thick with flying snow. Not the soft,flaky snow of the previous storm, but particles fine as frozen fog,that bit and stung as they whirled against his face in the eddyinggusts that came from no direction at all and every direction at once.
The boy bowed his head to the storm and pushed steadily forward--he_must_ kill the _loup-cervier_, whose trail was growing momentarilymore indistinct.
His eyes could penetrate but a few yards into the white smother, andsuddenly the dark wall of the rock ledge loomed in front of him, andthe trail, almost obliterated now, turned sharply and disappearedbetween two huge, upstanding bowlders.
The Promise Page 41