CHAPTER XX.
TRIUMPH.
He had bolted for good, vanished into the mysterious deeps of theprimeval forest, whether hurt unto death, or merely "nipped" in afore-leg, as Herb inclined to think, nobody knew.
"It's too dark to see blood-marks, if there are any, so we can't trailhim to-night. If he's hit bad--but I guess he ain't--we can track him inthe morning," said the guide; as, after an interval of listening, therescued pair dropped down from their perches. "Did he chase you, boys?Where on earth did you come on him?"
Talking together, their words tumbling out like a torrent let loose,Cyrus Garst and Dol Farrar gave an account of the past twohours--strangest hours of their lives--filling up the picture of thembit by bit.
"Whew! whew! You did have a narrow squeak, boys, and a scarey time; butI guess you had a lot of fun out of the old snorter," said Herb, hisrare laugh jingling out, starting the forest echoes like a clang ofbells. "You've won those antlers, Dol--won 'em like a man. Blest, butyou have! I promised 'em to the first fellow who called up a moose; andnary a woodsman in Maine could have done it better. I'm powerful glad'twasn't your own death-call you gave. I'll keep my eye on you now tillyou leave these woods. Where's the horn?"
"Smashed to bits," answered Dol regretfully.
"And the camp-kettle?"
"Lying by the spring, over there on the knoll, unless the moose kickedit to pieces," said Cyrus.
"My senses! you're a healthy pair to send for water, ain't ye? Let'scruise off and find it. I guess you'll be wanting a drink of hot coffee,after roosting in them trees for so long."
Garst led the way to the spring. Its pretty hum sounded like an angel'swhisper through the night, after the tumult of the past scene. Herbfumbled in his leather wallet, brought out a match and a small piece ofbirch-bark, and kindled a light. With some groping, the kettle wasfound; it was filled, and the party started for camp.
"I heard the distant challenge of a bull-moose a couple of hours ago,"said the guide, as they went along. "I never suspicioned he wasattacking you; but after the camp was a' ready, and you hadn't turnedup, I got kind o' scared. I left Neal to tend the fire and toast thepork, and started out to search. I s'pose I took the wrong direction;for I hollered, and got no answer. Afterwards, when I was travellingabout the bog, I heard a 'Coo-hoo!' and the noises of an angry moose.Then I guessed there was trouble."
"Won't Neal look blue when he hears that he was toasting pork while wewere perched in those trees, with the moose waltzing below!" exclaimedDol. "Well, Cy, I've won the antlers, and I've got my ripping story forthe Manchester fellows. I don't care how soon we turn home now."
"You don't, don't ye?" said the guide. "Well, I should s'pose you'd wantto trail up that moose to-morrow, and see what has become of him."
"Of course I do! I forgot that."
And Dol Farrar, who had thought his record of adventure and triumph sofull that it could hold no more, realized that there is always forambition a farther point.
Neal did feel a little blue over the thought of what he had missed. But,being a generous-hearted fellow, he tasted his young brother's joy, whenthe latter cuddled close to him upon the evergreen boughs that night,muttering, as if the whole earth lay conquered at his feet:--
"My legs are as stiff as ramrods, but who'd think of his legs after sucha night as we've had?
"I say, Neal, this is life; the little humbugging scrapes we used tocall adventures at home are only play for girls. It's something to talkabout for a lifetime, when a fellow comes to close quarters with acreature like that moose. I said I'd get the better of his ears, and Idid it. Pinch me, old boy, if I begin a moose-call in my sleep."
Several times during the night Neal found it necessary to obey thisinjunction, else had there been no peace in the camp. But, in spite ofDol's ravings and riotings in his excited dreams, the party enjoyed aneeded ten hours' slumber, all save Herb, who, as usual, was astir thenext morning while his comrades were yet snoring.
He got his fire going well, and baked a great flat loaf of bread in hisfrying-pan, setting the pan amid hot ashes and covering it over.Previous to this, he had made a pilgrimage to the distant spring, tofill his kettle for coffee and bread-making, and had carefully examinedthe ground about the clump of hemlocks.
The result of his investigation was given to the boys as they ate theirbreakfast under the shade of a cedar, with a sky above them whosemorning glories were here and there overshot by leaden tints.
"I guess we've got a pretty fair chance of trailing that moose," hesaid. "I found both hair and blood on the spot where he was wounded. I'mfor following up his tracks, though I guess they'll take us a bit up themountain. If he's hurt bad, 'twould be kind o' merciful to end hissufferings. If he ain't, we can let him get off."
"Right, as you always are, Herb," answered Cyrus. "But what on earthmade the creature bolt so suddenly? If you had seen him five minutesbefore he was shot, you'd have said he had as much fight in him as alion."
"That's the way with moose a'most always. Their courage ain't that o'flesh-eating animals. It's only a spurt; though it's a pretty big spurtsometimes, as you boys know now. It'll fail 'em in a minute, when youleast expect it. And, you see, that one last night didn't know where hiswound came from. I guess he thought he was struck by lightning or athunder-ball, so he skipped. Talking of thunder-balls, boys," wound upHerb, "I shouldn't be surprised if the old Mountain Spirit, who lives upa-top there, gave us a rattling welcome with his thunders to-day. Theair is awful heavy for this time of year. Perhaps we'd better give upthe trailing after all."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Dol indignantly. "Do you think a shower will meltus? Or that we'll squeal like girls at a few flashes of lightning?'Twould be jolly good fun to see old Pamolah sending off his artillery."
"Well, there'd be no special danger, I guess, if we were past the heavytimber growth before the storm began. There's lots of rocky dens on themountain side where we could shelter under a granite ledge, and be saferthan we'd be here in tent. Or we might come a-near our old log camp. Iguess, if that's standing yet, you'd like to see it. Say! we'll leave itto Cyrus. He's boss, ain't he?"
Cyrus, desperately anxious to know whether it would be life or death forthe wounded moose, and regarding the signs of bad weather as by no meanscertain, decided in favor of the expedition. The campers hurriedlyswallowed the remainder of their breakfast, and made ready for animmediate start.
"In trailing a moose the first rule is: go as light as you can; that is,don't carry an ounce more stuff than is necessary. Even a man's rifle isapt to get in his way when he has to scramble over windfalls, or slumpbetween big bowlders of rock, which a'most tear the clothes off hisback. And we may have to do some pretty tall climbing. So leave all yourtraps in the tent, boys; I'll fasten it down tight. There won't be anyhuman robbers prowling around, you bet! Bears and coons are the onlyburglars of these woods, and they don't do much mischief in daytime."
The guide rapidly gave these directions, his breezy voice setting acurrent of energy astir, like a wind-gust cutting through a quiet grove,while he rolled his indispensable axe, some bread that was left from themeal, and a lump of pork into a little bundle, which he strapped on hisback.
"Now," he said, "if that trail should give us a long tramp, or if youboys should take a notion to go a good ways up Katahdin, or anythingturns up to hinder our getting back to camp till nightfall, I've oursnack right here. I can light a fire in two minutes, to toast our pork;and we'll wash it down with mountain water, the best drink for climbers.I could rig you up a snug shelter, too, in case of accidents. A woodsmanain't in it without his axe."
To what strange work that axe would be put ere night again closed itsshutters over granite peaks and evergreen forest, Herb Heal little knew;nor could he have guessed that the coming hours would make the mostheart-stirring day of his stirring life. If he could, would he havestarted out this morning with a happy-go-lucky whistle, softly modulatedon his lips, and no more sober burden on his mind than the trail
of thatmoose?
Camp and Trail: A Story of the Maine Woods Page 21