XIII
The Lynx
As winter waned, Yan's strength returned. He was wise enough to usehis new ascendency to get books. The public librarian, a man of broadculture who had fought his own fight, became interested in him, andhelped him to many works that otherwise he would have missed.
"Wilson's Ornithology" and "Schoolcraft's Indians" were the mostimportant. And they were sparkling streams in the thirst-parched land.
In March he was fast recovering. He could now take long walks; and onebright day of snow he set off with his brother's Dog. His steps benthillward. The air was bright and bracing, he stepped with unexpectedvigour, and he made for far Glenyan, without at first meaning to gothere. But, drawn by the ancient attraction, he kept on. The secretpath looked not so secret, now the leaves were off; but the Glenlooked dearly familiar as he reached the wider stretch.
His eye fell on a large, peculiar track quite fresh in the snow. Itwas five inches across, big enough for a Bear track, but there were nosigns of claws or toe pads. The steps were short and the tracks hadnot sunken as they would for an animal as heavy as a Bear.
As one end of each showed the indications of toes, he could see whatway it went, and followed up the Glen. The dog sniffed at it uneasily,but showed no disposition to go ahead. Yan tramped up past the ruinsof his shanty, now painfully visible since the leaves had fallen, andhis heart ached at the sight. The trail led up the valley, and crossedthe brook on a log, and Yan became convinced that he was on the trackof a large Lynx. Though a splendid barker, Grip, the dog, was known tobe a coward, and now he slunk behind the boy, sniffing at the greattrack and absolutely refusing to go ahead.
Yan was fascinated by the long rows of footprints, and when he cameto a place where the creature had leaped ten or twelve feet withoutvisible cause, he felt satisfied that he had found a Lynx, and thelove of adventure prompted him to go on, although he had not even astick in his hand or a knife in his pocket. He picked up the best clubhe could find--a dry branch two feet long and two inches through, andfollowed. The dog was now unwilling to go at all; he hung back, andhad to be called at each hundred yards.
They were at last in the dense Hemlock woods at the upper end of thevalley, when a peculiar sound like the call of a deep-voiced cat washeard.
_Yow! Yow! Yowl!_
Yan stood still. The dog, although a large and powerful retriever,whimpered, trembled and crawled up close.
The sound increased in volume. The yowling _meouw_ came louder,louder and nearer, then suddenly clear and close, as though thecreature had rounded a point and entered an opening. It was positivelyblood-curdling now. The dog could stand it no more; he turned and wentas fast as he could for home, leaving Yan to his fate. There was nolonger any question that it was a Lynx. Yan had felt nervous beforeand the abject flight of the dog reacted on him. He realized howdefenseless he was, still weak from his illness, and he turned andwent after the dog. At first he walked. But having given in to hisfears, they increased; and as the yowling continued he finally ran hisfastest. The sounds were left behind, but Yan never stopped until hehad left the Glen and was once more in the open valley of the river.Here he found the valiant retriever trembling all over. Yan receivedhim with a contemptuous kick, and, boylike, as soon as he could findsome stones, he used them till Grip was driven home.
* * * * *
Most lads have some sporting instinct, and his elder brother, thoughnot of Yan's tastes, was not averse to going gunning when there was aprospect of sport.
Yan decided to reveal to Rad the secret of his glen. He had never beenallowed to use a gun, but Rad had one, and Yan's vivid account of hisadventure had the desired effect. His method was characteristic.
"It surely was a Lynx."]
"Rad, would you go huntin' if there was lots to hunt?"
"Course I would."
"Well, I know a place not ten miles away where there are all kinds ofwild animals--hundreds of them."
"Yes, you do, I don't think. Humph!"
"Yes, I do; and I'll tell you, if you will promise never to tell asoul."
"Ba-ah!"
"Well, I just had an adventure with a Lynx up there now, and if youwill come with your gun we can get him."
Then Yan related all that had passed, and it lost nothing in histelling. His brother was impressed enough to set out under Yan'sguidance on the following Saturday.
Yan hated to reveal to his sneering, earthy-minded brother all thejoys and sorrows he had found in the Glen, but now that it seemedcompulsory he found keen pleasure in playing the part of the craftyguide. With unnecessary caution he first led in a wrong direction,then trying, but failing, to extort another promise of secrecy, heturned at an angle, pointed to a distant tree, saying with all themeaning he could put into it: "Ten paces beyond that tree is a trailthat shall lead us into the secret valley." After sundry otherceremonies of the sort, they were near the inway, when a man camewalking through the bushes. On his shoulders he carried something.When he came close, Yan saw to his deep disgust that that somethingwas the Lynx--yes, it surely was _his_ Lynx.
They eagerly plied the man with questions. He told them that he hadkilled it the day before, really. It had been prowling for the lastweek or more about Kernore's bush; probably it was a straggler from upnorth.
This was all intensely fascinating to Yan, but in it was a jarringnote. Evidently this man considered the Glen--his Glen--as anordinary, well-known bit of bush, possibly part of his farm--not byany means the profound mystery that Yan would have had it.
The Lynx was a fine large one. The stripes on its face and the wideopen yellow eyes gave a peculiarly wild, tiger-like expression thatwas deeply gratifying to Yan's romantic soul.
It was not so much of an adventure as a might-have-been adventure;but it left a deep impress on the boy, and it also illustrated theaccuracy of his instincts in identifying creatures that he had neverbefore seen, but knew only through the slight descriptions of veryunsatisfactory books.
Two Little Savages Page 15