CHAPTER VII. THE BIRCH BARK CHALLENGE.
"Eli says we're now in the big game country, fellows!"
Giraffe was rubbing at his gun when he made this remark. They sat about afire among the pines that bordered the river; and another day had elapsedsince we last saw them in camp, at the time of the visit made by theMaine sheriff, and his posse.
"That sounds good to me," Step Hen observed. "Now, as for myself, I neverclaimed to be great shakes at doing any hunting; but all the same, I feela longing to see a great moose standing up before me while I proceed tobore him through and through with my trusty rifle."
Giraffe laughed scornfully as he continued to rub away with a rag he hadgreased with vaseline.
"You just take it from me, son, though I'm not a great woodsman myself,that if you ever do shoot that popgun of yours at a full grown moose, thequicker you shin up a good tree, the better. For if you delay, he's goingto help you with his horns."
"Popgun, nothing," remonstrated Step Hen; "now, I'd just like to knowwhat you mean by that? I took advice before I had my dad buy me that gun.It was Allan here who told me the good points about it. Just because youcarry one of those old-fashioned, big-bore rifles, that carry half apound of lead, more or less, you think a light thirty-thirty gun is aplaything. But, my friend, investigate, and you'll discover that it alllies in the ammunition you use, not the bore of the gun. Ain't that afact, Thad?"
"It certainly is," replied the other; "and I'll prove it when I borrowthat new repeating rifle of yours, Step Hen, to try and bring down mymoose--when I get a chance to strike one."
"Huh! don't see how you make that out," grumbled Giraffe. "This here gunis one of the hardest hitters ever made. It is some hefty, I admit; andin a long jaunt you'd come off much better than me, Step Hen. But whatharm could your little pea-shooter do against a big black bear, or asavage moose, not to speak of a panther, or a wolf?"
"Looky here, and I'll show you, old scoffer," replied Step Hen. "Justtake note of the cartridge that goes in the magazine of my rifle. Do yousee how extra long it is, and how the powder chamber swells much largerthan the end that holds the bullet? Well, the power is all there. Butthat ain't all, not by a long sight."
"Go on!" said Giraffe, fretfully, as the other paused, dramatically.
"Well, this is what they call a soft-nosed bullet. They've tried toprevent the use of them in war, because they are so terrible in theirresults. When it strikes even the flesh of a deer, it mushrooms out tillit makes a larger hole even than your big bore. Yes, and if you asked Elithere, he'd be likely to tell you that if he _had_ to choose between thetwo, he'd much prefer being hit by a bullet from your old elephant gun,to one from my pea-shooter, as you call it. That's all."
Giraffe listened, and frowned. He may have tried to look as though he didnot believe half he heard; but apparently he had lost considerableinterest in his own heavy artillery, for he was seen to quietly lay itdown immediately afterwards.
"And Sebattis has promised to show me how he makes what he calls a'moose-call'," remarked Bumpus, proudly; "being a strip of birch bark,curled up in a peculiar way like a long cornucopia; and through this thehunter can coax an old bull to come near enough to give him a shot.P'raps now, he'll even let us hear what it sounds like."
"Bully!" exclaimed Davy Jones; "I've always wanted to know what thatcould be like, when I've read about men calling the moose. Does he cometo have a fight, Eli?"
"I guess that's jest what he does," replied the older guide, who wassmoking his pipe contentedly by the fire, all duties for the day havingbeen closed up.
"Then that must have been why Sebattis stripped that bark from the birchtree after we landed this afternoon," remarked Step Hen. "I wonderedwhether he meant to write on it, the way you told us the Indians did,Allan; making pictures where white men would have letters, and drawingthe story out. There he goes now, starting to make the horn, I guess."
"This is mighty pleasant up here, fellows," said Thad, as he glancedaround; "all of you look perfectly happy, as though not a single carerested on your minds."
Bumpus immediately shivered, as though that reminded him he ought to beashamed of himself to be enjoying such things, with heartless disregardconcerning the dreadful happenings that, for aught he knew, were takingplace at his home.
"Ah!" he remarked, with a big sigh; "I wonder where they all areto-night. And I certainly hope from the bottom of my heart, my poorfather and mother, and all my brothers and sisters ain't a-sittin' on thecurb, without a place to sleep in. What if that foolish forgetfulness wasthe cause of it all? I'll never be happy again, boys, never once!"
"Oh! there he goes again on that same old racket!" exclaimed Giraffe; whodid not appear to feel the slightest sympathy for his afflicted comrade,simply, because he would not believe there could be any reason for thedire forebodings of Bumpus. "Now, if we only had a wireless outfit along,and Bumpus, here, could get in direct touch with his folks, I reckonthey'd give him the merry laugh because he's been so silly about that oldletter. Why, chances are, it wasn't anything much, after all. Perhapsyour dad wanted to ask his friend the cashier of the bank to drop aroundthat evening, and have a game of billiards at your house. Do pleaseforget it; or anyway bury your troubles deep down in your own bosom,Bumpus; because, if you keep on frettin' and moanin' like you've beendoing, the chances are you'll spoil this outing for the rest of us."
"Well," remarked Bumpus, indignantly; "guess if you happened to be in thesame fix that bothers me, you'd moan and groan too."
"Oh! I've got troubles of my own, let me tell you," continued Giraffe;"all of us have. There's Step Hen, he's wondering what we're going tohave to eat if we clean out all we fetched along, and the game keeps someshy; Davy's been uneasy this long time, ever since, in fact, he fell intothe camp-fire from the limb of a tree, where he was hangin' by his toeswhen the rotten thing broke under him; Bumpus, you yourself are over yourhead in a sea of troubles; or you were a short time back, when you tookthat header over the end of the canoe, into the river. We all have 'em,old fellow; but we don't go around whinin', and tellin' every one. Doclose up. There, looks like Sebattis is satisfied with the shape of thehorn he's made. Let's take a squint at it, please."
The birch bark trumpet was passed around for examination. No one knewbetter how to manufacture the simple but effective moose call than thePenobscot. Even such an old and experienced guide as the Maine woodsman,Eli Crookes, was ready to admit that Sebattis stood in a class all byhimself, when it came to enticing the wary but belligerent moose toapproach, by means of insidious calls upon the crude horn, that breatheddefiance one minute, and enticing sounds the next.
"See if you can make it go," suggested Step Hen.
Accordingly Thad, who had it in his hands at the time, placed it to hismouth. He puffed his cheeks out, and Bumpus hastened to clap both handsover his ears, as though he expected to hear a strident blast, such asthe old-time Highland chiefs were accustomed to making when they wantedtheir clans to appear, and attack the hated English from south of theborder.
But it was wonderful what a miserably soft noise followed all theseefforts on the part of Thad. He had never touched a moose call before,and did not have the knack of extracting anything like a bellow from theinnocent-looking device.
There was a general laugh at his inability to make use of the call; eventhe two Maine guides joining in, though the result was nothing more norless than had been expected on their part. It requires long practice toknow just how to pucker up the lips, and send the wind whistling throughthe bark tube that becomes larger at the further end, until it resemblesa megaphone.
So Thad turned it over to Step Hen. That worthy did his level best, andwas only able to extract a miserable squeak that made Bumpus chuckle.
"Just try it yourself, and see," said Step Hen, thrusting the call intothe chubby hands of the stout scout.
And so Bumpus, feeling confident that he could at least excel the lastattempt, sinc
e he was the bugler of the troop, and could play on any sortof instrument, took the call. He grew so red in the face with trying tosend forth a clarion note, that some of the boys feared he would break ablood vessel. But not even a grunt followed. The horn refused to show anyof it's good qualities, even when a master hand at the bugle took hold.
Then Giraffe was induced to try, and with no better success than hadattended Step Hen's attempt.
"I don't believe the old thing can make a noise at all!" declared Bumpus,aggressively.
"Suppose you ask Sebattis to show you," suggested Allan; who might havedone it himself fairly well, but did not wish to spoil the work of theIndian.
Accordingly, the dark-faced guide, without showing the slightest interestin the matter, took the roll of birch bark, and placed it carelessly tohis lips. What the boys listened to then, was a revelation to them. Atfirst, the sound seemed like several troubled grunts, and Bumpus wasgrinning with the expectation that it was going to prove to be a rankfailure, when the call grew louder and more insistent, until it seemed toroll up against the mountain far away on the other side of the river likea burst of thunder; or in great waves of sound. Then it grew softeragain, and finally wound up with another tremendous volume that seemed tomake the very air vibrate.
After Sebattis took the call down from his lips the echoes swung back andforth from one side of the river to the other, gradually dying away inthe far distance.
"My! but that was simply great!" ejaculated the entranced Step Hen.
"Never heard anything to equal it in all my life; and such a queer whooptoo!" declared Giraffe.
"Look at Sebattis; what's he sitting up that way for?" cried Davy Jones.
"Seems to be listening, fellers! Oh! I wonder what he's heard? Is that anecho that comes stealing back from up-river way?" and Bumpus half startedto clamber to his feet.
Then the six scouts remained motionless, as, with their ears on the alertfor the faintest sounds, they heard an increasing answering call comestealing through the night air.
Thad reached out his hand toward where Step Hen had rested his newmagazine rifle against a neighboring tree. He guessed instantly what itmeant. There was no echo about that thrilling sound! Sebattis had sentout a challenge, and it must have reached the ears of a real bull moosethat chanced to be within hearing; and this swelling roar that they werelistening to now was his sturdy response.
Yes, it was surely a genuine moose that had answered the call; and nodoubt he was even at that very minute lumbering along over thepine-covered slope, eager to accept the challenge that breathed in thatstrange medley of sounds!
The Boy Scouts on the Trail; or, Scouting through the Big Game Country Page 7