CHAPTER XVII.
HERB'S YARNS.
The following day was spent by our trio in exploring the woods nearMillinokett Lake, in listening to more moose-talk, and in attempting thetrick of calling. Herb gave them many persistent lessons, making thesounds which he had made on the preceding night, with and without thehorn, and patiently explaining the varied language of grunts, groans,sighs, and roars in which the cow-moose indulges.
Perhaps the woodsman expended extra pains on the teaching of hisyoungest pupil, whom he had championed. And certainly Dol's own talentfor mimicry came to his aid. No matter to what cause the success wasdue, each one allowed that Dol made a brilliant attempt to get hold of"the moose-hunter's secret," and give a natural call.
The boy had been a genius at imitating the voices of English birds andanimals; many a trick had he played on his schoolfellows with his carolsand howls. And his proficiency in this line was a good foundation onwhich to work.
"You'll get there, boy," said Herb, surveying him with approval, as hestood outside the camp-door with the moose-horn to his lips. "Makebelieve that there's a moose on the opposite shore of the lake now, andgive the whole call, from start to finish."
Whereupon Dol slowly carried his head to left and right, as he had seenthe guide do on the previous night, raising and lowering the horn untilit had described an enormous figure of eight in the air, while hegroaned, sighed, rasped, and bellowed with a plaintive intensity ofexpression, which caused his brother and his friend to shriek withlaughter.
"You'll get there, Kid," repeated the woodsman, with a great triumphantguffaw. "You'll be able to give a fetching call sooner than either ofthe others. But be careful how you use the trick, or you'll be havingthe breath kicked out of you some day by a moose's forefeet."
For days afterwards, the birch-bark horn was rarely out of Dol Farrar'shands. The boy was so entranced with the new musical art he wasmastering, which would be a means of communication between him and thebehemoth of the woods, that he haunted the edges of the forest about theclearing, keeping aloof from his brother and friend, practisingunceasingly, sometimes under Herb's supervision, sometimes alone. Helearned to imitate every sound which the guide made, working in touchingquavers and inflections that must tug at the heart-strings of anylistening moose. He learned to give the call, squatting Indian fashion,in a very uncomfortable position, behind a screen of bushes. He learnedto copy, not the cow's summons alone, but the bull's short challengetoo; and to rasp his horn against a tree, in imitation of a moosepolishing its antlers for battle.
And now, for the first time, Dol Farrar of Manchester regarded hiseducation as complete. He was prouder of this forest accomplishment,picked up in the wilds, than of all triumphs over problems and 'ologiesat his English school. He had not been a laggard in study, either.
But the finishing of Dol's education had one bad result. If therehappened to be another moose travelling through the adjacent forests, heevidently thought that all this random calling was too much of a goodthing, had his suspicions aroused, and took himself oft to wildersolitudes. Though the guide tried his powers in persuasive summons everynight at various calling-places, he could not again succeed in gettingan answer.
At last, on a certain evening, after supper, a solemn camp-council washeld around an inspiring fire, and Herb Heal suggested that if his partywere really bent on seeing a moose again, before they turned their faceshomeward, they had better rise early the following morning, shouldertheir knapsacks, and set out to do a few days' hunting amid the densewoods near the base of Katahdin.
"I killed the biggest bull-moose I ever saw, on Togue Ponds, in thatregion," said the guide meditatively; "and I got him in a queer way. Ib'lieve I promised to tell you that yarn."
"Of course you did!"
"Let's have it!"
"Go ahead, Herb! Don't shorten it!"
Thus encouraged by the eager three, the woodsman began:--
"It is five years now, boys, since I spent a fall and winter trapping inthem woods we were speaking of--I and another fellow. We had twohome-camps, which were our headquarters, snug log shelters, one on ToguePonds, the other on the side of Katahdin. As sure as ever the sun wentdown on a Saturday night, we two trappers met at one or other of thesehome-camps; though during the week we were mostly apart. For we hadseveral lines of traps, which covered big distances in variousdirections; and on Monday morning I used to start one way, and my chumanother, to visit these. Generally it took us five or six days to makethe rounds of them. While we were on our travels we'd sleep with ablanket round us, under any shelter we could rig up,--a fewspruce-boughs or a bark hut. When the snow came, we were forced toshorten our trips, so as to reach one of the home-camps each night.
"Well, it was early in the season, one fine fall evening, that I wascrossing Togue Ponds in a canoe. I had been away on the tramp for a'mosta week; and though I had a rifle and axe with me, I had nary an ounceof ammunition left. All of a sudden I caught sight of a moose, feedingon some lily-roots in deep water. Jest at first I was a bit doubtfulwhether it was a moose or not; for the creature's head was under, and Icould only see his shoulders. I stopped paddling. I tried to stopbreathing. Next, I felt like jumping out of my skin; for, with a bigsplash, up come a pair of antlers a good five feet across, dripping withwater, and a'most covered with green roots and stems, which dangled from'em.
"Good land! 'twas a queer sight. 'Herb Heal,' thinks I, 'now's yourchance! If you can only manage to nab that moose-head, you'll get twohundred dollars for it at Greenville, sure!' And mighty few cents I hadjest then.
"I could a'most have cried over my tough luck in not having one dose oflead left. But the bull's back was towards me. The water filled his earsand nose, so that he couldn't hear or smell. And he was having asplendid tuck-in. It was big sport to hear him crunch those lily-roots."
"I should think it was!" burst out Cyrus enviously. "But did you havethe heart to kill him in cold blood, in the middle of his meal?"
"I did. I guess I wouldn't do it now; anyhow, not unless I was verybadly off for food. But I had an old mother living at Greenville thattime,"--here there was the least possible tremble in the woodsman'svoice,--"and while I paddled alongside the moose, without making asound, I was thinking that the price I'd be sure to get from some cityswell for the head would come in handy to make her comfortable. Thecreature never suspicioned danger till I was close to him, and had myaxe lifted, ready to strike. Then up came his head. Out went hisforefeet. Over spun the canoe. There was as big a commotion as if awhale was there.
"I managed to keep behind the brute so as to dodge his kicks; andgripping the axe in one hand, I dug the other into his long hair. He wasmad scared. He started to swim for the opposite shore, which was abouthalf a mile distant, with me in tow, snorting like a locomotive. As hisfeet touched ground near the bank, I jumped upon his back. With one blowof the axe I split his spine. Perhaps you'll think that was awful cruel,but it wasn't done for the glory of killing."
"And what became of the head? Did you sell it?" asked Dol, who was, asusual, the first to break a breathless silence.
There was no reply. Herb feigned not to hear.
"Did you get two hundred dollars for the head?" questioned the impetuousyoungster again, in a higher key, his curiosity swelling.
"I didn't. It was stole."
The answer was a growl, like the growl of a hurt animal whose sore hasbeen touched. The tone of it was so different from the woodsman'sgenerally strong, happy-go-lucky manner of speech, that Dol blenched asif he had been struck.
"Who stole it?" he gasped, after a minute, scarcely knowing that hespoke aloud.
Unnoticed in the firelight, Cyrus clapped a strong hand over the boy'smouth, to stifle further questions.
"Keep still!" he whispered.
But Herb, who was, as usual, perched upon the "deacon's seat," leanedforward, with a laugh which was more than half a snarl.
"Who stole it?" he echoed. "Why, the other fellow--my chum; the man whomI
carried for a mile on my back, through a snow-heaped forest, the firsttime I saw him, when I had lugged him out of a heavy drift. _He_ stoleit, Kid, and a'most everything I owned with it."
THE CAMP ON MILLINOKETT LAKE.]
With a savage kick of his moccasined foot, the woodsman suddenlyassaulted a blazing log. It sent a shower of sparks aloft, and caused abright flame to shoot, rocket-like, from the heart of the fire, whichshowed the guide's face. His fine eyes reminded Cyrus of MillinokettLake when a thunder-storm broke over it. Their gray was dark andtroubled; the black pupils seemed to shrink, as if a tempest beat onthem; fierce flashes of light played through them.
Muttering a half-smothered oath, Herb flung himself off his bench,stamped across the cabin to the open camp-door, and passed into thedarkness outside.
The boys, who had been stretched out in comfortable positions, drewthemselves bolt upright, and sat aghast. They stared towards thecamp-door, murmuring disjointedly. Into the mind of each flashed aremembrance of some story which Doctor Phil had told about a thievingpartner who once robbed Herb Heal.
"You've stirred up more than you bargained for, Dol," said Cyrus. "Iwish to goodness you hadn't been so smart with your questions."
But the words were scarcely spoken when the guide was again in theirmidst, with a smile on his lips.
"It's best to let sleeping dogs lie, young one," he said, looking downreassuringly on Dol, who was feeling dumfounded. "I guess you all thinkI'm an awful bearish fellow. But if you had lived the lonely life of atrapper, tramping each day through the dark woods till you wereleg-weary, visiting your steel traps and deadfalls, all to get a fewfurs and make a few dollars; and turned up at camp one evening to findthat your partner had skipped with every skin you had procured, I reckon'twould take you a plaguy long time to get over it."
"I'm pretty sure it would, old man," said Cyrus.
"And I minded the loss of the furs a sight less than I minded losingthat moose-head," continued Herb, taking his perch again upon the"deacon's seat." "The hound took 'em all. Every woodsman in Maine wasriled about it at the time, and turned out to ketch him; but he gave 'emthe slip. Now, boys, I've got to feeling pretty chummy with you. Cyrusis an old friend; and, to speak plain, I like you Britishers. I don'twant you to think that I bust up your fun to-night for nothing. I'lltell you the whole yarn if you want to hear it."
The looks of the trio were sufficient assent.
"All right, boys. Here goes! Since I was a kid in Maine woods I'veworked at a'most everything that a woodsman can do. Six year ago I was a'barker' in a lumber-camp on the Kennebec River. A 'barker' is a man whojumps onto a big tree after a chopper has felled it, and strips the barkoff with his axe, so that the trunk can be easily hauled over the snow.Well, it's pretty hard labor, is lumbering. But our camp always gotSunday for rest.
"Well, I was prowling about in the woods by myself one Sunday afternoon,when an awful snow-storm come on, a big blizzard which staggered thestripped trees like as if 'twould tumble 'em all down, and end our workfor us. I was bolting for camp as fast as I was able, when I trippedover something which was a'most covered over in a heavy drift. 'GreatScott!' says I, 'it's a man!' And 'twas too. He was near dead. I hauledhim out, and set him on his legs; but he couldn't walk. So I threw himacross my shoulders, same way as I carry a deer. He didn't weigh near asmuch as a good buck, for he was little more'n a kid and awful lean. But'twas dreadful travelling, with the snow half blinding and burying you.I was plumb blowed when I struck the camp, and pitched in head foremost.
"For an hour we worked over that stranger to bring him round, and wesucceeded. We saw at once that he was a half-breed. When he could usehis tongue, he told us that his father was a settler, and his mother aPenobscot Indian. He was sick for a spell and wild-like, then he talkeda lot of Indian jargon; but when he got back his senses, he spokeEnglish fust-rate. Chris Kemp he said was his name. And from the startthe lumbermen nicknamed him 'Cross-eyed Chris; for his eyes, which wereblack as blackberries, had a queer squint in 'em.
"Well, in spite of the squint, I took to Chris, and he to me. And thefollowing year, when I decided to give up lumbering, and take totrapping fur-bearing animals in the woods near Katahdin, he joined me.We swore to be chums, to stick to each other through thick and thin, toshare all we got; and he made one of his outlandish Indian signs tostrengthen the oath. A fine way he kept it too!
"Now, if I'm too long-winded, boys, say so; and I'll hurry up."
"No, no! Tell us everything."
"Spin it out as long as you can."
"We don't mind listening half the night. Go ahead!"
At this gust of protest Herb smiled, though rather soberly, and wentahead as he was bidden.
"We made camp together--him and me. We had two home-camps where I toldyou, and met at the end of each week, bringing the skins we had taken,which we stored in one of 'em. We got along together swimmingly for abit. But Chris had a weakness which I had found out long before. I guesshe took it from his mother's people. Give him one drink of whiskey, andit stirred up all the mud that was in him. There's mud in every man, Is'pose; and there's nothing like liquor for bringing it to the surface.A gulp of fire-water changed Chris from an honest, right-hearted fellowto a crazy devil. This had set the lumbermen against him. But I hopedthat in the lonely woods where we trapped he wouldn't get a chance tosee the stuff. He did, though, and when I wasn't there to make a fightagainst his swallowing it.
"It happened that one week he got back to our camp on ToguePonds,--where most of our stuff was stored, and where I kept thatmoose-head, waiting for a chance to take it down to Greenville,--a dayor two sooner'n me. And the worst luck that ever attended either of usbrought a stranger to the camp at the same time, to shelter for a night.He was an explorer, a city swell; and I guess he didn't know much aboutInjuns or half-breeds, for he gave Chris a little bottle of fierywhiskey as a parting present. The man told me about it afterwards, andthat he was kind o' scared when the boy--for he wasn't muchmore--swallowed it with two gulps, and then followed him into the woods,howling, capering, and offering to sell him my grand moose-head, and allthe furs we had, for another drink of the burning stuff. I guess thatstranger felt pretty sick over the mischief he had done. He refused tobuy 'em. But when I got back to camp next day, to find the skins gone,antlers gone, Chris gone; when I ran across the traveller and ferretedout his story,--I knew, as well as if I seen it, that my partner hadskipped with all my belongings, to sell 'em or trade 'em at somesettlement for more liquor. We had a couple of big birch canoes,--one of'em was missing too,--and a river being near, the thing could be easymanaged.
"I'll allow that I raged tremendous. The losses were bad; but to berobbed by your own chum, the man you had saved and stuck to, the onlybeing you had said a word to for months, was sickening. I swore I'dshoot the hound if I found him. I spread the news at every camp andfarm-settlement through the forest country, and we had a rousing huntafter the fellow; but he gave us the slip, though I heard of himafterwards at a distant town, where he sold the furs."
"I suppose he left the State," said Cyrus.
"I guess he did. But for a big while I used to think he'd come back toour camp some day, and let me have it out with him; for he wasn't acoward, and we had been fast chums."
"And he didn't?"
"Not as I know of. The next year I gave up trapping, which was an awfulcruel as well as a lonely business, and took to moose-hunting andguiding. I haven't been anear the old camps for ages."
"Perhaps you will come across him again some day," suggested Dol, withunusual timidity.
"P'raps so, Kid. And, faith, when I think of that, it seems as if therewere two creatures inside o' me fighting tooth and claw. One is all forhammering him to a jelly. The other is sort o' pitiful, and says, 'Mebbe'twasn't out-an'-out his fault.' Which of them two'll get the best ofit, if ever I'm face to face with Cross-eyed Chris, I dunno."
Cyrus Garst rose suddenly. He kicked the camp-fire to make a blaze, thenlooked the woodsman fair
in the eyes.
"I know, Herb," he said; "the spirit of mercy will conquer."
"Glad you think so!" answered Herb. "But I ain't so sure. Sho! boys,I've kept you up till near midnight with my yarns. We must go to roostquick, or you'll never be fit to light out for Katahdin to-morrow."
Camp and Trail: A Story of the Maine Woods Page 18