CHAPTER XIV.
A LUCKY HUNTER.
Amid cracking of jokes, and noise which would have disgraced a squad ofIndians, "Company Three," as Cyrus dubbed his reduced band, reached thecrowning-point of their journey, the log camp on the shore ofMillinokett Lake.
During the first half-dozen miles of the way, though each one manfullydid his best to be lively, a sense of loss made their fun flat andpointless. Royal's tear-away tongue, his brothers' racket, Joe's racytalk, Uncle Eb's kind, dark face, and more than all, Doc'scompanionship, which was as tonic to the hearts of those who travelledwith him, were missed.
But spirits must be elastic in forest air. When they halted at noon toeat their "snack" on the side of a breezy knoll, with a tiny brookpurling through a pine grove beneath them, with Katahdin's rugged sidesand cloud-veiled peaks looming in majesty to the north, the thought ofwhat lay behind was inevitably lost in what lay before. Enthusiasmreplaced depression.
"It's no use grizzling because we can't have those fellows with us allthe time," remarked Neal philosophically. "'Twas a big piece of luck ourrunning against them at all. And I've a sort of feeling that this won'tbe the end of it; we'll come across them again some day or other."
"And at all events we'll probably get a sight of Doc at Greenville as wego back," said Dol, to whom this was no small comfort.
"Well, needless to say, I'd have been glad of their company for the restof the trip. But still, if they had taken a notion to come on with us,it would have reduced to nothing our chances of seeing a moose. We're abig party already for moose-calling or stalking--three of us, withHerb;" this from Cyrus.
"Now, fellows, don't you think we'd better get a move on us?" added theleader. "We've half a dozen miles to do yet; but the trail begins righthere, and is clearly blazed all the way to our camp. Let's keep a stiffupper lip, and the journey will soon be over."
It was very delightful to sit there in the crisp October air, with thebrook seemingly humming tender legends of the woods, which witless mencould not translate, with an uncertain breeze playing through the newlyfallen maple-leaves, now turning them one by one in lazy curiosity, thenof a sudden making them caper and swirl in a scarlet merry-go-round.Still, the young Farrars were not loath to move on. Now that they werenearing the climax of their journey, their minds were full of Herb Heal.Their longing to meet this lucky hunter grew with each mile which drewthem nearer to him.
They pressed hard after their leader, looking neither right nor left,while he carefully followed the trail; and one hour's tramping broughtthem to the shores of Millinokett Lake.
Here, despite their eagerness to reach their new camp, they were forcedto stop and admire the great sheet of forest-bound water, smiling backthe sky in tints of turquoise and pearl, dotted with apparentlycountless islets, like specks upon the face of a mirror.
The irregular shores of the lake were broken by "logons," narrow littlebays curving into the land, shining arms of water, sometimes bordered byevergreens, sometimes by graceful poplars and birches. From the oppositebank the woods stretched away in undulating waves of ridge and valley tothe foot of Mount Katahdin, which still showed grandly to the northward.
"Millinokett Lake," said Cyrus, prolonging the syllables with a soft,liquid sound. "It's an Indian name, boys; it signifies 'Lake ofIslands.' Whatever else the red men can boast of, the music of theirnames is unequalled. I don't know exactly how many of those islets thereare, but I believe Millinokett has over two hundred of them anyhow. Ourcamp is on the western shore. Shall we be moving?"
After skirting the water for another mile or two, the travellers reacheda broad, open tract, bare of timber. At the farther end of this clearingwere two log cabins, low, but very roomy, situated at a distance of afew hundred yards from the lake, with a background of splendid firs andspruces, the lively green of the latter making the former look black incontrast.
"Is that our camp? How perfectly glorious!" boomed Neal and Doltogether.
"It's our camp, sure enough," answered Garst, with no less enthusiasm."At least the first cabin will be ours. I don't know whether there areany hunters in the other one just now."
The log shanties had been put up by an enterprising settler toaccommodate sportsmen who might penetrate to this far part of the wildsin search of moose or caribou. Cyrus had arranged for the use of oneduring the months of October and November. Here it was that Herb Healhad engaged to await him. And as he had commissioned this famous guideto stock the camp with all such provisions as could be procured fromneighboring settlements, such as flour, potatoes, pork, etc., heexpected to slide into the lap of luxury.
In one sense he did. When the trio, their hearts thumping withanticipation, reached the low door of the first cabin, they found itsecurely fastened on the outside, so that no burglar-beast could forcean entrance, but easily opened by man. Cyrus hurriedly undid the bolts,and stepped under the log roof, followed by his comrades. The camp wasin beautiful order, clean, well-stocked, and provided with primitivecomforts. An enticing-looking bed of fresh fir-boughs was arranged in asort of rude bunk which extended along one side of the cabin, having ahead-board and foot-board. The latter was fitted to form a bench aswell. A man might perch on it, and stretch his toes to the fire in thegreat stone fireplace only two feet distant.
The boys could well imagine that this would make an ideal seat for ahunter at night, where he might lazily fill his pipe and tell big yarns,while the winter storm howled outside, and snow-flurries drifted againsthis log walls. But they looked at it wistfully now, for it was empty.There was no figure of a moccasined forest hero on bench or in bunk.There was no Herb Heal.
"Bless the fellow! Where on earth is he?" Garst exclaimed. "He's beenhere, you see, and has the camp provisioned and ready. Perhaps he's onlyprowling about in the woods near. I'll give him a 'Coo-hoo!'"
"HERB HEAL."]
He stepped forth from the cabin to the middle of the clearing, and senthis voice ringing out in a distance-piercing hail. He loaded his rifleand blazed away with it, firing a volley of signal-shots.
Neither shout nor shots brought him any answer.
The second cabin was likewise empty, and, judging from the witheredremains of a bed, had evidently been long unused.
"Well, fellows!" said the leader, with manifest chagrin, "we'll onlyhave to fix up something to eat, make ourselves comfortable, and waitpatiently until our guide puts in an appearance. Herb Heal never brokean engagement yet. He's as faithful a fellow as ever made camp orspotted a trail in these forests. And he promised to wait for me herefrom the first of October, as it was uncertain when I might arrive. I'mmighty hungry. Who'll go and fetch some water from the lake while I turncook?"
Dol volunteered for this business, and brought a kettle from the cabin.He found it near the hearth, on which a fire still flickered, side byside with a frying-pan and various articles of tinware. Cyrus rolled uphis sleeves, took the canisters of tea and coffee with other smallstores from his knapsack, proceeded to mix a batter for flapjacks, andshowed himself to be a genius with the pan.
The meal was soon ready. The food might be a little salt and greasy; butcamp-hunger, after a tramp of a dozen miles, is not dulled by suchtrifles. The trio ate joyously, washing the fare down with big draughtsof tea, rather fussily prepared by Neal, which might have "done creditto many a Boston woman's afternoon tea-table"--so young Garst said.
Yet from time to time longing looks were cast at the low camp-door. Andwhen daylight waned, when stars began to glint in a sky which was amixture of soft grays and downy whites like a dove's plumage, when theislets on Millinokett's bosom became black dots on a slate-gray sheet,and no laden hunter with rifle and game put in an appearance, even Cyrusbecame fidgety and anxious.
"I hope the fellow hasn't come to grief somewhere in the woods," hesaid, while a shiver of apprehension shot down his back. "But Herb hashad so many hairbreadth escapes that I believe the animal has yet to beborn which could get the better of him. And he can find his way anywherewithou
t a compass. Every handful of moss on a trunk or stone, everyturn of a woodland stream, every sun-ray which strikes him through thetrees, every glimpse of the stars at night, has a meaning for him. Hereads the forest like a book. No fear of his getting lost anyhow. Come,boys, I guess we'd better build up our fire, make things snug for thenight, and turn in."
Rather dejectedly the trio set about these preparations. In twentyminutes' time they were stretched side by side in the wide bunk, withtheir blankets cuddled round them, already venting random snores.
"Hello! So you've got here at last, have you?"
The exclamations were loud and snappy, and awoke the sleeping camperslike the banging of rifle-shots. With jumping pulses they sprang up,feeling a wave of cold air sweep their faces; for the cabin-door, whichthey had closed ere lying down, was now ajar.
The camp was almost in darkness. Only one dull, red ray stole out fromthe fire, on which fresh logs had been piled. But while the youngFarrars rubbed their sleep-dimmed eyes, and slowly realized that thewoodsman whom they had been expecting had at last arrived, a strangelybrilliant illumination lit up the log walls.
This sudden and bewildering light showed them the figure of a hunter inmud-spattered gray trousers, with coarse woollen stockings of lighterhue drawn over them above his buckskin moccasins. His battered felt hatwas pushed back from his forehead, a guide's leathern wallet was slunground him, and the rough, clinging jersey he wore, being stretched sotightly over his swelling muscles that its yarn could not hold together,had a rent on one shoulder.
His slate-gray eyes with jetty pupils, which were miniatures ofMillinokett Lake at this hour, gazed at the awakened trio in the bunk,with a gleam of light shooting athwart them, like a moonbeam crossingthe face of the lake.
The hunter held in his hand a big roll of the inflammable paper-likebark of the white birch-tree, which he had brought in with him to kindlehis fire, expecting that it had gone out during his absence. Seeing aglow still on the hearth, and feeling instantly that the cabin wastenanted, he had applied a match to his bark, causing the vivid flarewhich revealed him to the eyes of those who had longed for hispresence.
"Herb Heal, man, is it you?" shouted Cyrus, his voice like a midnightjoy-chime, as he sprang from the fir-boughs and gripped the woodsman'sarm. "I'm delighted to see you, though I was ready to swear you wouldn'tdisappoint us! I didn't fasten the cabin-door, for I thought you mightpossibly get back to camp during the night."
"Cyrus, old fellow, how goes it?" was Herb's greeting. "I had a'mostgiven up looking for you. But I'm powerful glad you've got here atlast."
The hunter's voice had still the quick snap and force which made itstartling as a rifleshot when he entered the cabin.
"These are my friends, Neal and Adolphus Farrar," said Cyrus,introducing the blanketed youths, who had now risen to their feet."Boys, this is Herb Heal, our new guide, christened Herbert Healy--isn'tthat so, Herb?"
"I reckon it is;" answered the young hunter, laughing. "But no woodsmancould spring a sugary, city-sounding name like that on me. I've beenHerb Heal from the day I could handle a rifle."
He nodded pleasantly as he spoke to the strange lads, and began to chatwith them in prompt familiarity, looking straight and strong as a youngpine-tree in the halo of his birch torch. Garst, whose inches hisjuniors had hitherto coveted, was but a stripling beside Herb Heal.
"Is this your first trip into Maine woods, younkers?" he asked. "Well, Iguess you've come to the right place for sport. I'm sorry I wasn't onhand to welcome you when you arrived. A pretty forest guide you musthave thought me. But I guess I'll show you a sight to-morrow that'llwipe out all scores."
There was such triumph in the hunter's eye that the voices of the trioblended into one as they breathlessly asked,--
"What sight is it?"
"A dead king o' the woods, boys," answered Herb Heal, his voicevibrating. "A fine young bull-moose, as sure as this is a land ofliberty. I dropped him by a logon on the east bank of Fir Pond, aboutfour miles from here. I started out early, hoping to nab a deer; for Ihad no fresh meat left, and I didn't want to have a bare larder when youfellows came along. But the woods were awful still. There didn't seem tobe anything bigger than a field-mouse travelling. Then all of a suddenI heard a tormented grunting, and the moose came tearing right onto me.I was to leeward of him, so he couldn't get my scent. A man's gundoesn't take long to fly into position at such times, and I dropped himwith two shots. There he lies now by the water, for I couldn't get himback to camp till morning. He's not full-grown; but he's a fine fellowfor all that, and has a dandy pair of antlers. By George! I'd give thebiggest guide's fees I ever got if you fellows had been there to hearhim striking the trees with 'em as he tore along. He was a buster.
"But you'll see him to-morrow anyhow, and have a taste of moose-meat forthe first time in your lives, I guess."
Here Herb waved the fag-end of his bark roll, threw it down as itscorched his horny fingers, and stamped upon it.
The interior of the log cabin, ere it was extinguished, was a scene fora painter,--the lithe, muscular figure, tanned face, and gleaming eyesof the lucky hunter shown by the flare of his birch torch, and the threestaring listeners, with blankets draped about them, who feared to missone point of his story.
Cyrus was grinding his teeth in vexation that he had narrowly missedseeing the moose alive. The two Farrars were burning with excitement atthe thought of beholding the monarch of the forest at all, even indeath. For they had heard enough wood-lore to know that the bull-moose,with his extreme caution, is like a tantalizing phantom to hunters.Continually he lures them to disappointment by his uncouth noises, or bya sight of his freshly made tracks, while his sensitive ears andsuper-sensitive nose, which can discriminate between the smell of manand every other smell on earth, will generally lead him off like awind-gust before man gets a sight of him.
"I'm sorry to keep you awake, boys," said Herb Heal, making for thefire, after he had finished his story; "but I haven't had a bite sincemorning, and I'm that hungry I could chaw my moccasins. I'll getsomething to eat, and then we'll turn in. We'll have mighty hard workto-morrow, getting the moose to camp."
Herb was not long in making ready the stereotyped camp-fare of flapjacksand pork. To light his preparations, he took a candle out of a preciousbundle which he had brought from a town a hundred miles distant, andset it in a primitive candlestick. This was simply a long stick of whitespruce wood, one end of which was pointed, and stuck into the ground;the other was split, and into it the candle was inserted, the elasticityof the fresh wood keeping the light in place.
The tired hunter did not dawdle over his supper. In a quarter of an hourhe had finished it, and was building up the fire again. Then hestretched himself beside the trio in the rude bunk, drawing one thinblanket over him. Neal, who lay on his right, was conscious of someprickings of excitement at having such a bedfellow on thefir-boughs,--the camper's couch which levels all. There flashed upon thefair-haired English boy a remembrance of how Cyrus had once said that"in the woods manhood is the only passport." He thought that, measuredby this standard, Herb Heal had truly a royal charter, and might be apresident of the forest land; for he looked as free, strong, andunconquerable as the forest wind.
Camp and Trail: A Story of the Maine Woods Page 15