CHAPTER III. AT CAMP DE SQUATOOK.
The next morning we got off at a good hour. For the last half mile ofits course we found Beardsley Brook so overgrown with alders that we hadto chop and haul our way through it with infinite labor. Here we wastedsome time fishing for Sam’s pipe, which had fallen overboard among thealders. The pipe was black, with crooked stem, plethoric in build, andso heavy that we all thought it would sink where it fell. As soon as thecatastrophe occurred we halted till the water, here about two feet deep,had become clear. Then, peering down among the alder-stems, Ranolf spiedthe pipe on the sandy bottom, looking blurred and distorted through thewrithing current. Long we grappled for it, poking at it with pole andpaddle. We would cautiously raise it a little way towards the surface;but even as we began to triumph it would wriggle off again as ifactually alive, and settle languidly back upon the sand. We all knew,without Ranolf’s elaborate explanations, that its lifelike movement wasdue to its being so little heavier than the water it displaced, or tothe uneven refraction of the light through the moving fluid, or to someother equally satisfactory and scientific cause. Finally Sam, gettingimpatient, plunged in arm and shoulder, and grasped the pipevictoriously. He came up empty-handed; and we beheld a huge tadpole, nowthoroughly aroused, flaunting off down stream in high dudgeon. Ranolfremarked that the laws of refraction were to him obscure; and wecontinued our journey. The real pipe we overtook farther down stream,floating along jauntily as a cork.
Once out upon the Squatook River our course was rapid, for the currentwas swift and the channel clear. There were some wild rapids, but we ranthem victoriously. By noon we were on the bosom of Big Squatook Lake. Bysix o’clock we had traversed this beautiful and solitary water, and werepitching our tent near the outlet, on a soft brown carpet ofpine-needles. Here was a circular opening amid the huge trunks. Betweenthe lake and our encampment hung a screen of alder and wild-cherry,whence a white beach of pebbles slanted broadly to the waves. WhileStranion and Queerman made preparations for supper, the rest of uswhipped the ripples of the outlet for trout. The shores of the lake atthis spot draw together in two grand curves, and at the apex flows outthe Squatook River, about waist-deep and a stone’s throw broad. Itmurmurs pleasantly on for the first few rods, and then begins to dartand chafe, and lift an angry voice. Hither the Indians come to spearwhitefish in their season. To assist their spearing they had the outletfenced part way across with a double row of stakes. All but the smallestfish were thus compelled to descend through a narrow passage, whereinthey were at the mercy of the spearman. This fence we now found veryconvenient. Letting the canoe drift against it, we perched on top of thestakes, a couple of feet above water, and cast our flies unimpeded inevery direction. The trout were abundant, and took the flies freely. Foran hour we had most exciting sport. It was in itself, for all truefishermen, worth the whole journey. The Squatook trout are of a goodaverage size, and very game. Of the twenty odd fish we killed thatevening, there were two that passed the one and one-half pound scratchupon our scales, and several that cleared the pound.
Deciding to spend some days in this fair spot, we named it Camp deSquatook. Lopping the lower branches of the trees, we made ourselvespegs on which to hang our tins and other utensils; while a dry cedarlog, split skilfully by Stranion, furnished us with slabs for a table.Our commissariat was well supplied with campers’ necessities andluxuries, but it was upon trout above all that we feasted. Sometimes weboiled them; sometimes we broiled them; more often we fried them in thefragrant, yellow corn-meal. The delicate richness of the hot, pink,luscious flakes is only to be realized by those who feast on the spoilsof their own rods, with the relish of free air and vigor and out-doorappetites.
Campers prate much of early hours, and of seeking their blankets withsunset; but we held to no such doctrine. Night in these wilds is richwith a mysterious beauty, an immensity of solitude such as day cannotdream of. Supper over, we stretched ourselves out between tent-door andcamp-fire, pillowing our heads on the folded bedding. Across the yellow,fire-lit circle, through the trunks and hanging branches, we watched thestill, gleaming level of the lake, whence at intervals would ring outstartlingly clear the goblin laughter of the loon.
We were not so tired as on the previous evening, and it took us longerto settle down into the mood for story-telling. At last Stranion wascalled upon. He was ready, and speech flowed from him at once, as if hismouth had been just uncorked.
A NIGHT ENCOUNTER.
“I’ll tell you a tale,” said he, “of this very spot, on this very BigSquatook; and, of course, with me and the panther both in it.
“Once upon a time—that is to say in the summer of 1886—I fished overthese waters with Tom Allison. You remember he was visiting Frederictonnearly all that year. We camped right here two days, and then went on tothe Little Lake, or Second Squatook, just below.
“One moonlight night, when the windless little lake before our camp waslike a shield of silver, and the woody mountains enclosing us seemed tohold their breath for delight, I was seized with an overwhelming impulseto launch the canoe and pole myself up here to Big Squatook. Thedistance between the two lakes is about a mile and a half, with rapidwater almost all the way; and Allison, who had been amusing himselflaboriously all day, was too much in love with his pipe and blankets bythe camp-fire to think of accompanying me. All my persuasions werewasted upon him, so I went alone.
“Of course I had an excuse. I wanted to set night-lines for the graytrout, or _togue_, which haunt the waters of Big Squatook. A favoritefeeding-ground of theirs is just where the water begins to shoal towardthe outlet yonder. Strange as it may seem, the togue are never taken inSecond Lake, or in any other of the Squatook chain.
“It was a weird journey up-stream, I can tell you. The narrow river,full of rapids, but so free from rocks in this part of its course thatits voice seldom rises above a loud, purring whisper, was overhung bymany ancient trees. Through the spaces between their tops fell themoonlight in sharp white patches. As the long slow thrusts of my poleforced the canoe stealthily upward against the current, the creepingpanorama of the banks seemed full of elvish and noiseless life. Whitetrunks slipped into shadow, and black stumps caught gleams of suddenradiance, till the strangeness of it all began to impress me more thanits beauty, and I felt a curious and growing sense of danger. I evencast a longing thought backward toward the camp-fire’s cheer and mylazier comrade; and when at length, slipping out upon the open bosom ofthe lake, I put aside my pole and grasped my paddle, I drew a breath ofdistinct relief.
“It took but a few minutes to place my three night-lines. This done, Ipaddled with slow strokes toward that big rock far out yonder.
“The broad surface was as unrippled as a mirror, like it is now, savewhere my paddle and the gliding prow disturbed it. When I floatedmotionless, and the canoe drifted softly beyond the petty turmoil of mypaddle, it seemed as if I were hanging suspended in the centre of a blueand starry sphere. The magic of the water so persuaded me, thatpresently I hauled up my canoe on the rock, took off my clothes, andswam far out into the liquid stillness. The water was cold, but of alife-giving freshness; and when I had dressed and resumed my paddle Ifelt full of spirit for the wild dash home to camp, through the purringrapids and the spectral woods. Little did I dream just how wild thatdash was to be!
“You know the whitefish barrier where you fellows were fishing thisevening. Well, at the time of my visit the barrier extended only tomid-channel, one-half having been carried away, probably by logs, in thespring freshets. For this accident, doubtless very annoying to theIndians, I soon had every reason to be grateful.
“As I paddled noiselessly into the funnel, and began to feel the currentgathering speed beneath me, and noted again the confused, mysteriousglimmer and gloom of the forest into which I was drifting, I once morefelt that unwonted sense of danger stealing over me. With a word ofvexation I shook it off, and began to paddle fiercely. At
the sameinstant my eyes, grown keen and alert, detected something strange aboutthe bit of Indian fence which I was presently to pass. It was surelyvery high and massive in its outer section! I stayed my paddle, yet keptslipping quickly nearer. Then suddenly I arrested my progress with a fewmighty backward strokes. Lying crouched flat along the tops of thestakes, its head low down, its eyes fixed upon me, was a huge panther.
“I was completely at a loss, and for a minute or two remained just whereI was, backing water to resist the current, and trying to decide whatwas best to be done. As long as I kept to the open water, of course Iwas quite safe; but I didn’t relish the idea of spending the night onthe lake. I knew enough of the habits and characteristics of the pantherto be aware the brute would keep his eye on me as long as I remainedalone. But what I _didn’t_ know was how far a panther could jump! CouldI safely paddle past that fence by hugging the farther shore? I feltlittle inclined to test the question practically; so I turned about andpaddled out upon the lake.
“Then I drifted and shouted songs and stirred up the echoes for a goodround hour. I hoped, rather faintly, that the panther would follow me upthe shore. This, in truth, he may have done; but when I paddled back tothe outlet, there he was awaiting me in exactly the same position aswhen I first discovered him.
“By this time I had persuaded myself that there was ample room for me topass the barrier without coming in range of the animal’s spring. I knewthat close to the farther shore the water was deep. When I was aboutthirty yards from the stakes, I put on speed, heading for just about themiddle of the opening. My purpose was to let the panther fancy that Iwas coming within his range, and then to change my course at the lastmoment so suddenly that he would not have time to alter his plan ofattack. It is quite possible that this carefully planned scheme wasunnecessary, and that I rated the brute’s intelligence and forethoughtquite too high. But however that may be, I thought it safer not to takeany risks with so cunning an adversary.
“The panther lay in the sharp black shadow, so that it was impossiblefor me to note his movements accurately; but just as an instinct warnedme that he was about to spring, I swerved smartly toward him, and hurledthe light canoe forward with the mightiest stroke I was capable of. Themanœuvre was well executed, for just before I came fairly opposite thegrim figure on the stake-tops, the panther sprang.
“Instinctively I threw myself forward, level with the cross-bars; and inthe same breath there came a snarl and a splash close beside me. Thebrute had miscalculated my speed, and got himself a ducking. I chuckleda little as I straightened up; but the sigh of relief which I drew atthe same time was profound in its sincerity. I had lamentablyunderestimated the reach of the panther’s spring. He had alighted closeto the water’s edge, just where I imagined the canoe would be out ofreach. I looked around again. He was climbing alertly out of the hatedbath. Giving himself one mighty shake, he started after me down alongthe bank, uttering a series of harsh and piercing screams. With a sweepof the paddle I darted across current, and placed almost the fullbreadth of the river between my enemy and myself.
“I have paddled many a canoe-race, but never one that my heart was soset upon winning as this strange one in which I now found myselfstraining every nerve. The current of the Squatook varies greatly inspeed, though nowhere is it otherwise than brisk. At first I gainedrapidly on my pursuer; but presently we reached a spot where the bankswere comparatively level and open; and here the panther caught up andkept abreast of me with ease. With a sudden sinking at the heart Icalled to mind a narrow gorge a quarter of a mile ahead, from the sidesof which several drooping trunks hung over the water. From one of these,I thought the panther might easily reach me, running out and droppinginto the canoe as I darted beneath. The idea was a blood-curdling one,and spurred me to more desperate effort; but before we neared theperilous pass the banks grew so uneven and the underbrush so dense thatmy pursuer was much delayed, and consequently fell behind. The currentquickening its speed at the same time, I was a good ten yards in thelead, as my canoe slid through the gorge and out into the whitemoonlight of one of the wider reaches of the stream.
“Here I slackened my pace in order to recover my wind; and the panthermade up his lost ground. For the time, I was out of his reach, and allhe could do was to scream savagely. This, I supposed, was to summon hismate to the noble hunting he had provided for her; but to myinexpressible satisfaction no mate came. The beauty and the weirdness ofthe moonlit woods were now quite lost upon me. I saw only that long,fierce, light-bounding figure which so inexorably kept pace with me.
“To save my powers for some possible emergency, I resolved to contentmyself, for the time, with a very moderate degree of haste. The pantherwas in no way pressed to keep up with me. Suddenly he darted forward athis utmost speed. For a moment this did not trouble me; but then I awoketo its possible meaning. He was planning, evidently, an ambuscade, and Imust keep an eye upon him.
“The order of the chase was promptly reversed, and I set out at once ina desperate pursuit. The obstructed shores and the increasing currentfavored me, so that he found it hard to shake me off. For the next halfmile I just managed to keep up with him. Then came another of thosequieter reaches, and my pursued pursuer at last got out of sight.
“Again I paused, not only to take breath, but to try and discover thebrute’s purpose in leaving me. All at once it flashed into my mind. Justbefore the river widens into Second Lake, there occurs a lively andsomewhat broken rapid. As there was moonlight, and I knew the channelswell, I had no dread of this rapid till suddenly I remembered threelarge bowlders crossing the stream like stepping-stones.
“It was plain to me that this was the point my adversary was anxious toreach ahead of me. These bowlders were so placed that he could easilyspring from one to the other dry-shod, and his chance of intercepting mewould be excellent. I almost lost courage. The best thing I could dounder the circumstances was to save my strength to the utmost; so for atime I did little more than steer the canoe. When at last I rounded aturn, and saw just ahead of me the white, thin-crested, singing ripplesof the rapid, I was not at all surprised to see also the panther,crouched on one of the rocks in mid-stream.
“At this point the river was somewhat spread out, and the banks werelow, so the moonlight showed me the channel quite clearly. You’llunderstand better when we run through in a day or two. I laid aside mypaddle and took up the more trusty white spruce pole. With it I“snubbed” the canoe firmly, letting her drop down the slope inch byinch, while I took a cool and thorough survey of the ripples andcross-currents.
“From the sloping shoulder of the rock lying nearest to the left-handbank a strong cross-current took a slant sharply over toward the middlechannel. I decided to stake my fate on the assistance of thiscross-current. Gradually I snubbed the canoe over to the left bank, andthen gave her her head. The shores slipped past. The rocks, with thatcrouching sentinel on the central one, seemed to glide up-stream to meetme. I was almost in the passage when, with a superb bound, the panthershot through the moonlight and lit upon the rock I was approaching! Ashe poised himself, gaining his balance with some difficulty on thenarrow foothold, a strong lunge with my pole twisted the canoe into theswirl of that cross-current; and with the next thrust I slid likelightning down the middle channel before my adversary had more than gothimself fairly turned around! With a shout of exultation I raced downthe rest of the incline and into widening reaches, safe from pursuit.The panther, screaming angrily, followed me for a time; but soon thereceding shores placed such a distance between us that I ceased toregard him. Presently I bade him a final farewell, and headed across thelake for the spot where the camp-fire was waving me a ruddy welcome.”
“That’s getting pretty near home,” remarked Ranolf, glancingapprehensively into the gloom behind the camp. “You don’t suppose thatchap would be waiting around here for you, Stranion? If so, I hope hewon’t mistake me for you!”
“Let Sam give us something cheerful now!” demanded Magnus.
; “Well,” said Sam, “I’ll give you a story of the lumber-camps. I’ll callit—
“With the next Thrust I slid like Lightning down the Middle Channel.”—Page 78.]
‘BRUIN AND THE COOK.’
“As the O. M. is going to dress up our yarns for the cold light ofprint, I must be allowed to preface the story with a few introductoryremarks on the life of the lumbermen in winter. Stranion and the O. M.know all about that; but the rest of you fellows never go to thelumber-camps, you know.
“To one who visits the winter camps here in our backwoods, the life ledby the loggers is likely to seem monotonous after the strangeness of ithas worn off. The sounds of the chopping, the shouting, the clanking ofthe teams, afford ample warning to all the wild creatures of the woods,who thereupon generally agree in giving a wide berth to a neighborhoodwhich has suddenly grown so populous and noisy.
“In chopping and hauling logs the lumbermen are at work unremittinglyfrom dawn until sun-down, and at night they have little energy to expendon the hunting of bears or panthers. The bunks and the blankets exert anoverwhelming attraction; and by the time the men have concluded theirafter-supper smoke, and the sound of a few rough songs has died away,the wild beasts may creep near enough to smell the pork and beans, andmay prowl about the camp until dawn, with small fear of molestation fromthe sleepers within.
“At intervals, however, the monotony of camp-life is broken. Somethingoccurs to remind the careless woodsmen that, though in the wilderness,indeed, they are yet not truly of it. They are made suddenly aware ofthose shy but savage forces which, regarding them ever as trespassers,have been keeping them under an angry and eager surveillance. The spiritof the violated forest makes a swift and sometimes effectual, but alwaysunexpected, stroke for vengeance.
“A yoke of oxen are straining at their load: a great branch reachingdown catches the nearest ox by the horn, and the poor brute falls in itstrack with its neck broken. A stout sapling is bent to the ground by aweight of ice and snow: some thaw or the shock of a passing teamreleases it, and by the fierce recoil a horse’s leg is shattered.
“A lumberman has strayed off into the woods by himself, perchance togather spruce-gum for his friends in the settlements, and he is found,days afterwards, half-eaten by bears and foxes. A solitary chopperthrows down his axe and leans against a tree to rest and dream, and apanther drops from the branches above and tears him.
“Yet such vengeance is accomplished but seldom, and makes no permanentimpression on the heedless woodsman. His onward march is inexorable.
“The cook, it must be borne in mind, is a most important personage inthe lumber-camp. This I say of camp-cooks in general, and I assert it inparticular of the cook who figures as one of the heroes in my story. Theother hero is the bear.
“It was a bright March morning at Nicholson’s camp over on Salmon River.There had been a heavy thaw for some days, and the snowbanks under theeaves of the camp were shrinking rapidly. The bright chips about thedoor, the trampled straw and fodder around the stable, were steaming andsoaking under the steady sun. Such winds as were stirring abroad thatday were quite shut off from the camp by the dark surrounding woods.
“From the protruding stovepipe, which did duty as a chimney, a faintblue wreath of smoke curled lazily. The cook had the camp all to himselffor a while; for the teams and choppers were at work a mile away, andthe ‘cookee,’ as the cook’s assistant is called, had betaken himself toa neighboring pond to fish for trout through the ice.
“The dishes were washed, the camp was in order, and in a little while itwould be time to get the dinner ready. The inevitable pork and beanswere slowly boiling, and an appetizing fragrance was abroad on the quietair. The cook decided to snatch a wink of sleep in his bunk beneath theeaves. He had a spare half-hour before him, and under his presentcircumstances he knew no better way of spending it.
“The weather being mild, he left the camp-door wide open, and, swingingup to his berth, soon had himself luxuriously bedded in blankets,—hisown and as many other fellows’ blankets as he liked. He began to dozeand dream. He dreamed of summer fields, and then of a livelySunday-school picnic, and at last of the music of a band which he heardcrashing in his ears. Then the cymbals and the big drum grew unbearablyloud, and, waking with a start, he remembered where he was, and thrusthis head in astonishment over the edge of the bunk. The sight that methis eyes filled him with alarm and indignation.
“The prolonged thaw had brought out the bears from their snug winterquarters; and now, in a very bad humor from having been waked up toosoon, they were prowling through the forest in unusual numbers. Food wasscarce; in fact, times were very hard with them, and they were not onlybad-humored, but lean and hungry withal.
“To one particularly hungry bear the smell of our cook’s simmering porkhad come that morning like the invitation to a feast. The supposedinvitation had been accepted with a rapturous alacrity. Bruin had foundthe door open, the coast clear, the quarters very inviting. With theutmost good faith he had entered upon his fortune. To find the source ofthat entrancing fragrance had been to his trained nose a simple matter.
Bruin and the Cook.—Page 83.]
“While cook slept sweetly, Bruin had rooted off the cover of the pot,and this was the beginning of cook’s dream.
“But the pot was hot, and the first mouthful of the savory mess made himyell with rage and pain. At this point the trumpets and clarions grewshrill in cook’s dreaming ears.
“Then an angry sweep of the great paw had dashed pot and kettle off thestove in a thunder of crashing iron and clattering tins. This was thepoint at which cook’s dream had attained overwhelming reality.
“What met his round-eyed gaze, as he sat up in his blankets, was anangry bear, dancing about in a confusion of steam and smoke and beansand kettles, making ineffectual snatches at a lump of scalding pork uponthe floor.
“After a moment of suspense, cook rose softly and crept to the other endof the bunks, where a gun was kept. To his disgust the weapon wasunloaded. But the click of the lock had caught the bear’s attention.Glancing up at the bunk above him, the brute’s eye detected theshrinking cook, and straightway he overflowed with wrath. Here,evidently, was the author of his discomfort.
“With smarting jaws and vengeful paws he made a dash for the bunk. Itsedge was nearly seven feet from the floor, so Bruin had to do someclambering. As his head appeared over the edge, and his great paws tookfirm hold upon the clapboard rim of the bunk, cook, now grown desperate,struck at him wildly with the heavy butt of the gun. But Bruin is alwaysa skilful boxer. With an upward stroke he warded off the blow, and sentthe weapon spinning across the camp. At the same time, however, hisweight proved too much for the frail clapboard to which he was holding,and back he fell on the floor with a shock like an earthquake.
“This repulse—which, of course, he credited to the cook—only filled himwith tenfold greater fury, and at once he sprang back to the assault;but the delay, however brief, had given poor cook time to grasp an idea,which he proceeded to act upon with eagerness. He saw that the hole inthe roof through which the stovepipe protruded was large enough to givehis body passage. Snatching at a light rafter above his head, he swunghimself out of the bunk, and kicked the stovepipe from its place. Thesections fell with loud clatter upon the stove and the bear, for amoment disconcerting Bruin’s plans. From the rafter it was an easy reachto the opening in the roof, and as Bruin gained the empty bunk andstretched his paw eagerly up toward his intended victim on the rafter,the intended victim slipped with the greatest promptitude through thehole.
“At this point the cook drew a long breath, and persuaded his heart togo down out of his throat, where it had been since he waked, and resumeits proper functions.
“His first thought was to drop from the roof and run for help, butfortunately he changed his mind. The bear was no fool. No sooner had thecook got safely out upon the roof than Bruin rushed forth from thecamp-door, exp
ecting to catch him as he came down.
“Had cook acted upon his first impulse, he would have been overtakenbefore he had gone a hundred yards, and would have perished hideously inthe snow. As it was, however,—evidently to Bruin’s deep chagrin,—hestuck close to the chimney-hole, like a prairie-dog sitting by hisburrow, ready at a moment’s notice to plunge within, while the bearstalked deliberately twice around the camp, eying him, and evidentlylaying plans, as it were, for his capture.
“At last the bear appeared to make up his mind. At one corner of theshanty, piled up nearly to the eaves, was a store of firewood which‘cookee’ had gathered in. Upon this pile Bruin mounted, and then made adash up the creaking roof.
“Cook prayed most fervently that it might give way beneath the greatweight of the bear, and to see if it would do so he waited almost toolong; but it did not. As he scurried, belated, through the hole, thebear’s paw reached its edge, and the huge claws tore nearly all theflesh from the back of the poor fellow’s hand. Bleeding and trembling hecrouched upon the friendly rafter, not daring to swing down into thebunk.
“The agility of that great animal was marvellous. Scarcely had cook gotunder shelter when Bruin rushed in again at the door, and was up on thebunk again in a twinkling, and again cook vanished by the chimney-place.A moment later the bear was again on the roof, while cook once morecrouched back faintly on his rafter. This performance was repeatedseveral times, till for cook it had quite ceased to be interesting.
“At last the chase grew monotonous even to the indefatigable Bruin, whothen resolved upon a change of tactics. After driving cook out throughthe chimney, he decided to try the same mode of exit for himself, or atleast to thrust his head through the opening, and see what it was like.Embracing the woodwork with his powerful forepaws, he swung himself upon the rafter, as he had seen cook do so gracefully. The attempt wasquite successful; but the rafter was not prepared for the strain, andBruin and beam came thundering to the floor.
“As cook gazed down through the hole, and marked what had happened, hisheart sank utterly within him. His one safe retreat was gone. But Bruindid not perceive his advantage, or else was in no hurry to follow it up.The shock had greatly dampened his zeal. He sat on his haunches by thestove, and gazed up sullenly at cook, while cook gazed back despairinglyat him.
“Then the bear noticed that the precious pork had got deliciously cool,and in the charms of that rare morsel cook was soon quite forgotten. Allcook had to do was to lie on the roof, nursing his lacerated hand, andwatching Bruin as he made away with the lumbermen’s dinner,—a labor oflove in which he lost no time.
“At this junction a noise was heard in the woods, and hope came back tothe cook’s heart. The men were returning for dinner. Bruin heard it too,and made haste to gulp down the remnant of the beans. Just as teams andchoppers emerged into the little cleared space in front of the camp,Bruin, having swallowed his last mouthful, rushed out of the camp-door,to the breathless and immeasurable amazement of the lumbermen.
“Finding himself to all appearances surrounded, Bruin paused a momentirresolutely. Then charging upon the nearest team, he dealt the teamstera terrific cuff, bowling him over in the snow and breaking his arm,while the maddened horses plunged, reared, and fell over backward in atangle of sleds and traces and lashing heels.
“This episode brought the woodsmen to their senses. Axe in hand, theyclosed in upon the bear, who rose on his hind-quarters to meet them. Thefirst few blows that were delivered at him, with all the force ofpractised arms and vindictive energy, he warded off as if they were somany feathers; but he could not guard himself on all sides at once. Awell-directed blow from the rear sank the axe-head deep between hisfore-shoulders, severing the spinal column, and Bruin collapsed, a furryheap, upon the crimsoned snow.
“In their indignation over the cook’s torn hand, their comrade’s brokenarm, and—perhaps most aggravating of all—their thoroughly demolisheddinner, the lumbermen undertook to make a meal of Bruin; but in thisattempt Bruin found a measure of revenge, for in death he proved to beeven tougher than he had been in life, and the famous luxury of a fatbear-steak was nowhere to be had from his carcass.”
“And now, Magnus,” continued Sam, cleaning out his pipe, “we’ll havesomething remote and tropical from you, with your kind permission. Whatelse has happened to that uncle of yours?”
“Lots of things,” said the imperturbable Magnus. “I’ll tell you one ofhis Mexican stories, which he calls—
‘AN ENCOUNTER WITH PECCARIES.’
This is, as near as I can remember, the way he told it to me. I speak inhis name.
“In my somewhat varied wanderings over the surface of this fair roundworld,” said my uncle, “I have had adventures more or less exciting, andgenerally disagreeable, with wolves, bears, and tigers, with irate andundiscriminating bulls, and with at least one of those painfullyunpleasant horses, who have acquired a special relish for human flesh.Some childish memories, moreover, disclose to me at times that on morethan one occasion I have come off without laurels from a contest with anindignant he-goat, and that I have even been in peril at the wings of anunusually aggressive gander. But of all the unpleasant acquaintances tomake when one is feeling solitary and unprotected, I think a herd ofirritated peccaries will carry off the palm. Let these sturdy littleanimals once conceive that their rights have been ever so littlemenaced, and they are tireless, implacable, and blindly fearless intheir demand for vengeance. Just what they may interpret as a menace totheir rights I suppose no man can say with any confidence; but my ownobservation has led me to believe that they think themselves entitled topossess the earth. The earth is much to be congratulated upon the factthat various climatic considerations have hitherto prevented them fromentering upon their inheritance. The peccary is confined, I believe, andI state it here on the authority of reputable naturalists, to certaintropical and sub-tropical regions of the New World. My own limitedacquaintance with the creature was gained in Mexico.
“Toward the end of the seventies I was engaged upon a survey ofgovernment lands in one of the interior provinces of Mexico. Our partywas enjoying life, and troubled by few cares. There were no bandits inthat region. The scanty inhabitants were more than well-disposed; theywere ready to bow down before us in their deferential good-will. Theclimate, though emphatically warm, was healthful and stimulating. Therewere hardly enough pumas in the neighborhood to add to our content thezest of excitement. There were peccaries, as we were told in admonition,but we had seen no sign of them; and when we learned that they were onlya kind of small wild pig we took little stock in the tales we heard oftheir unrelenting ferocity.
“On one of our numerous holidays—we could not work our peons on anysaint’s day be it remembered—a rumor of a remarkable waterfall adorninga tributary of the stream which meandered past our camp had taken me alongish ride into the foothills of the Sierra. My journey was along alittle-frequented trail leading into the mountains, and the scenery wasfascinating in its loveliness. I found the waterfall easily enough, forthe trail led past its very brink, and I was more than rewarded for thetrifling fatigue of my ride. A vigorous stream, rolling from a windingravine in such a manner that it seemed to burst right out of themountain-side, leaped sparkling and clamoring into the air from acurtain of emerald foliage, and fell a distance of nearly two hundredfeet into a very valley of paradise. In this valley, down into the bosomof which I gazed from my height, the stream lingered to form a sapphirelakelet, around whose banks grew the most luxuriant of tree-ferns andmahoganies and mesquits garlanded with gorgeous-bloomed lianas. I couldhear the cries of parrots rising from the splendid coverts, and Ithought what a delicious retreat the valley would be but for itsassortment of snakes, miasma, and a probable puma or two. I enjoyed thescene from my post, but I did not descend. Then I turned my facehomeward, well content.
“The horse I rode requires more than a passing mention, for he playedthe most prominent and most heroic part in the adventure which befell
meon my way home. He was a superb beast, a blood bay, whom I had bought inthe city of Mexico from an American engineer who was leaving thecountry. The animal, who answered to the name of Diaz, had seen plentyof service in the interior of Mexico, and his trained instincts had keptme out of many dangers. I loved Diaz as a faithful friend and servant.
“As I descended from the foothills the trail grew heavy and soft, makingour progress slow. The land was open,—a succession of rank meadows, withclumps of trees dotted here and there, and pools on either side of thetrail. Suddenly, some distance in my rear, there arose a shrill,menacing chorus of grunts and squeals, at which I would fain have pausedto listen. But Diaz recognized the sounds, and bounded forward instantlywith every sign of apprehension. Then I said to myself, ‘It must bethose peccaries of which I’ve heard so much.’
“In a moment or two I realized that it certainly was those peccaries.They swarmed out of the rank herbage and dashed after us, gnashing theirjaws; and, though Diaz was doing his best, the herd gained upon usrapidly. They galloped lightly over the soft soil wherein Diaz sank farabove his fetlocks. It took me but a moment to realize, when at lastface to face with them, that the peccaries were just as dangerous asthey had been represented. And another moment sufficed to show me thatescape by my present tactics was impossible.
“I was armed with a light breech-loading rifle,—a Remington,—and a braceof Smith & Wessons were sticking in my belt. Wheeling in my saddle Itook a snap shot at the pursuing herd, and one of the animals tumbled inhis tracks. His fellows took no notice of this whatever. Then I markedthat Diaz appreciated our plight, for he was trembling under me. Ilooked about me, almost despairing of escape.
“A little behind, nearly half-way between us and the peccaries, I saw awide-spreading tree close to the trail. We had passed it at the first ofthe alarm. Ahead, as far as I could see, there was no such refuge.Plenty of trees there were indeed, but all standing off amid the swamps.I decided at once upon a somewhat desperate course. I turned Diaz about,and charged down upon the peccaries with a yell.
“This stratagem appeared exactly to my horse’s taste. In fact, hisattitude made me rather uncomfortable. He seemed suddenly distraught. Hegave several short whinnying cries of challenge or defiance, and rushedon with his mouth wide open and his hips rolled back in a fashion thatmade him look fiendish. My design was to swing myself from the saddleinto the tree that overhung the trail, and so give Diaz a chance to runaway, when free of my weight. But Diaz seemed bent on carrying the warinto the enemy’s country.
“I took one more shot at the peccaries, who seemed no whit dismayed bythe onset of Diaz. I dropped my rifle, and kicked my feet out of thestirrups. By this time we were under the tree, and the peccaries withwild squeals were leaping upon us. I had just succeeded in grasping abranch above my head, and was swinging myself up, when I saw Diaz springinto the air, and come down with his forefeet upon one of the gruntingherd. The brute’s back was broken. Almost in the same instant my bravesteed’s teeth had made short work of another peccary; but his flankswere streaming with blood, and the dauntless animals were literallyclimbing upon him and ripping his hide with their short, keen tusks. Iemptied my revolvers rapidly, and half a dozen animals dropped; but thismade no appreciable difference in their numbers. Meanwhile Diaz hadgathered himself together, and then, lashing out desperately before andbehind, had shaken himself free. He sprang clear of the pack, andgalloped off up the trail toward the mountains.
“The peccaries pursued him but a few paces, and then returned to besiegemy tree of refuge, giving me an excellent opportunity for revolverpractice. As I was refilling my emptied chambers, I heard a snortingscreech coming down the trail; and there to my amazement was Diazreturning to the charge. But could that terrible-looking beast be mygentle Diaz? His eyes seemed like blazing coals, and his great jaws weredripping with blood. The peccaries darted joyously into the fray, butDiaz went right through and over them like a whirlwind, mangling I knownot how many in his course, and disappeared down the trail on thehomeward road. His charge had been murderous, but there were stillplenty of my adversaries left to make my beleaguerment all tooeffective. I gazed wistfully after my heroic horse, and then, perchedsecurely astride a branch, I continued my revolver practice. Thepeccaries, never heeding the diminution of their ranks, and disdainingto notice their wounds, kept scrambling on one another’s shoulders, andthrusting their malignant snouts high into the air in the hope of comingat me and satiating their revenge.
“I emptied My Revolvers rapidly, and half a dozen Animals dropped.” Page 94.]
“In the course of half an hour my little stock of cartridges, useddeliberately and effectively, was gone; but so, as I congratulatedmyself, were most of the peccaries. There were still half a dozen,however; and these, as far as my imprisonment was concerned, were as badas fourscore. These were incorruptible jailers; and I feared lest theirceaseless, angry cries might summon another herd to their assistance.When a couple of hours had passed I grew deeply disgusted, and began toplan my camping arrangements for the night.
“In the act of tying some branches together to make myself a safe couch,I caught the welcome sound of voices approaching. It was my party out insearch of me. The arrival of Diaz, torn, bloody-mouthed, and in a wildexcitement, had, of course, given them a terrible alarm; and they hadset off without delay, hardly expecting to find me alive. A few shotsfrom their rifles broke up the siege, and the meagre remnant of thepeccaries fled into the swamps. When I got back to camp I found thatnone of the peons dared to do anything for Diaz, or even to approachhim, he was so furious and so erratic. To me he was submissive, thoughwith an effort. I dressed his wounds, and gave him a heavy dose ofaloes, and in a day or two he was himself again. But I believe he was onthe verge of going mad.”
When Magnus ceased I murmured, “I only hope your uncle’s adventures willlast right through this trip.”
“And now,” said Sam, “we’ll call on Queerman for something of a tenderand idyllic tone; eh, Queerman?”
“All right,” was the reply. “And I’ll show you, Sam, that I, too, knowsomething of the lumber-camps. Listen to a gentle—
‘IDYL OF LOST CAMP.’
“In the lumber-camps they still talk about the great midwinter thaw thatwrought such havoc ten years back. It came on without warning about thelast week in February. There had been heavy snowfalls in the early partof the winter, and all through that district the snows were deep andsoft. Before the thaw came to an end these great snow masses weredwindled to almost nothing, and the ice had gone out of the rivers in aseries of tremendous floods.
“For the lumber thieves the thaw was a magnificent opportunity, of whichthey made haste to avail themselves. Having no stumpage dues to pay,they could afford a little extra outlay for the difficult hauling. Theywere comparatively secure from interruption, and the opening of thestreams gave them an opportunity of quickly getting their spoils out ofthe way.
“One of the most important camps of the district at that time was thatof the Ryckert Company, on the Little St. Francis. On a Saturdaymorning, the fourth day of the thaw, word was brought into camp that thethieves were having a delightful time over on Lake Pecktaweekaagomic, onthe Company’s timber limits. Steve Doyle, the boss of the camp,immediately called for volunteers to attempt the capture of themarauders. Every man at once came forward, with the exception of thecook; and the boss, in order to excite no jealousies, made his selectionby lot. In half an hour the squad was ready to set out.
“‘Be you agoin’ along, sir?’ inquired one of the hands.
“‘Why, of course!’ exclaimed Doyle. ‘McCann will be in charge here whilewe’re gone. There’s such a thing possible as a brush with them fellows,though I don’t anticipate no trouble with ’em. I reckon they’re relyin’on the thaw to keep ’em from bein’ interrupted.’
“‘I thought,’ responded the man who had just spoken, ‘as how the “littlefeller” might come out to camp to-d
ay, along of Mart, an’ you mightn’twant to miss him. He ain’t been here fur more’n a month, now, an’ we’reall kind of expectin’ him to-day. You kin depend on us to make a goodjob of it, ef so be’s you’d like to stay by the camp. The hands allknows you too well to think you stay home on account of bein’ _skeered_,anyways!’
“At this there was a general laugh; for Doyle’s reckless courage wasfamous in all the camps.
“‘No,’ said the boss, after a thoughtful pause; ‘it’s my place to go,and not to stay. Anyways, I’m not lookin’ for Arty to-day. Hisgrandmother ain’t goin’ to let him come when the road’s so bad. No!’ hecontinued with renewed emphasis, ‘this ain’t no time for Arty in thewoods.’
“Without more discussion the band picked up their dunnage and theirguns, and set out for the lake of the unpronounceable name. It isneedless to say the name became much shortened in their careless lingo.On state occasions they sometimes took pains to pronounce it‘Peckagomic.’ For every-day use they found ‘Gomic’ quite sufficient.
“About the time the expedition was setting out from the Ryckert Camp,far away in Beardsley Settlement a very small boy was being tuckedcomfortably into the straw and bearskins of a roomy pung. As hisgrandmother kissed the round, expectant little face, she said to thedriver, a slim youth of perhaps eighteen,—
“‘Do you think, now, Mart, the goin’ won’t be too bad? Be you sure thepung ain’t likely to slump down and upset? And then there’s the ice!This warm spell must have made it pretty rotten! Will it be safecrossin’ the streams? Somehow or other, I do jist hate lettin’ Arty goalong this mornin’!’
“‘Don’t you be worryin’ a mite, marm,’ responded Mart Babcock, gatheringup the reins. ‘Ther’ ain’t no ice to cross, seein’s ther’ ain’t norivers in our rowt, exceptin’ the Siegus, an’ that’s got a bridge to it.I’ll look after Arty, trust me. His pa’d be powerful disapp’inted if Ididn’t bring him along this time, to say nawthin’ of all the hands!’
“‘Well, well,’ said the old lady in a voice of reluctant resignation; ‘Isuppose it’s all right; but take keer of him, Mart, as if he was theapple of your eye!’
“It was a soft, hazy, melting day when Mart and Arty set out on theirlong drive. The travelling was heavy, but the air was delicious, and ourtravellers were in the highest spirits. This visit to the camp wasArty’s dearest treat, and was allowed him three or four times during thewinter.
“Toward noon the hazy blue of the morning sky changed to a thick gray,while the air grew almost oppressively warm, and the woods were filledon all sides with the strange, innumerable noises of the great thaw. Thedull crunchings of the settling masses of snow at first thrilled thechild with a vague alarm. Then, reassured by his companion, he grewinterested in trying to distinguish the varied sounds. The unbending ofsoftened twigs and saplings, the dropping of loosened bark, the stealthytricklings of unseen rillets—all these filled the forest with a sense ofmysterious activity and bustle.
“Every little while Mart stopped to give the floundering horse rest andencouragement. Jerry belonged to Steve Doyle; but being a great pet withhis owner, and devoted to the child, and at the same time somewhat tooold to endure without injury the hardships of winter lumbering, he hadbeen left at home in luxury the last two winters, with nothing to do butmake a weekly trip to the camp on the Little St. Francis. In all casesJerry was treated with affectionate consideration, which he amply repaidby his intelligence and willingness.
“When our weary travellers reached the top of the hill overlooking thecamp, Jerry was pretty well fagged. There was the camp, however, nothalf a mile away in its clearing at the end of a straight bit of road.Arty clapped his hands, and stood up to see if he could catch a glimpseof his father looking out for him; and Mart chirruped cheerfully to thehorse.
“Just at this moment the rain, which had been threatening for hours,came down. It came down in sheets. The horse was urged to a run; but thetravellers, ere they reached the camp, were drenched as if they hadfallen in the river. Arty, moreover, was drenched in tears for a fewmoments on learning of his father’s absence; but soon, with thedelighted pettings and caressings of the three or four woodsmen who hadbeen left in the camp, the little fellow’s disappointment was assuaged,and he was making himself at home. The camp, however, seemed to himlonely and deserted; and when, after supper, getting the cook to wraphim up in an oilskin coat, he went out to the stable to give Jerry a bigpiece of camp gingerbread and bid him good-night, his disappointmentwelled up again, and he gave way to a few more tears on the affectionateanimal’s neck.
“Around the blazing fire a little later Arty was himself again. The mensang songs for him, and told him stories, and blew little clouds ofbitter smoke from their pipes into the brown thicket of his curls. Hesat now on one rough fellow’s knee, now on another’s, and absorbed allthe attention of the camp, and was allowed by the cook to eat all thegingerbread he wanted. When he got sleepy he was put into his father’sbunk; and, since he was determined to have it so, Mart was allowed tosleep beside him. Arty having gone to bed, there was nothing for hisadmirers to do but follow his example. Their hearts filled with tendermemories and generous thoughts, stirred up by the presence of the childamong them, the backwoodsmen turned into their bunks, and soon were fastasleep.
“That night the floods came. The torrents rushing down every hillsidespeedily burst the already rotten ice. Some miles above the camp a jamformed itself early in the evening,—a mixed mass of ice-cakes, logs, andrubbish; and this kept the water below from rising rapidly enough towarn the camp of its danger. Just as the gray of dawn was beginning tostruggle dimly through the forest aisles, the jam broke, and the mightyavalanche of ice and water swept down on the slumbering camp.
“There was no warning. Men perished in their sleep, crushed or drowned,without knowing what had happened. The camp was simply wiped out ofexistence.
“The bunk in which Arty lay asleep with his young protector was notbuilt into the wall like the other bunks. It was a separate structure,and stood across the end of the building close by the fireplace. Whenthe flood struck the camp, the stout building went down like a house ofcards.
“With a choking cry of terror Arty awoke to find himself drifting in atumult of icy waters. Great dark waves kept whirling, eddying, andcrashing about him. An arm was around him, holding him firmly, and herealized that Mart was taking care of him. Presently a fragment of wreckplunged against them and he heard Mart groan; but the young man caughtthe timbers, and bade Arty lay hold of them. The child bravely did as hewas told, and climbed actively upon the floating mass. Hardly had hedone so when Mart disappeared under the dark surface.
“A shrill cry broke from Arty’s lips at the sight, but in a moment theyoung man reappeared. He was close against the timbers—dashing againstthem, in fact; but Arty saw that he was unable to hold on to them.Throwing himself flat on his face, the plucky little fellow caught holdof his friend’s sleeve, and clung to it with all his tiny strength. Tinyas it was, it was enough for the purpose, however, and Mart’s head waskept above water; but his eyes were closed, and he did not notice thechild’s voice begging him to climb up onto the wreck.
“The waters subsided almost as rapidly as they had risen, though thestream remained a torrent, raging far above its wonted bounds. In a fewminutes the timbers on which Arty had his refuge were swung by an eddyinto shallow water. They caught against a tree, and then grounded at oneend.
“Arty began crawling toward shore, dragging Mart’s body through thewater without great difficulty. But when he got into the shallow part itwas another matter; he could not haul Mart’s weight any farther. Restingthe young man’s head on the edge of the timbers, he paused to takebreath, and looked about him in despair. Now he began to cry again; hehad been too busy for lamentations while trying to save Mart.
“Presently he heard some one approaching, attracted by the sound of hisvoice. Looking up eagerly, he saw it was old Jerry, picking his waythrough the shallow water. He called him
by name, and the horse neighedjoyfully in answer. The animal was sadly bedraggled in appearance, butevidently unhurt. He had swum ashore lower down the river, and wasmaking his way back to where he expected to find the camp. Now, however,he came to Arty, sniffed him over, and rubbed him with his soft, wetnose.
“‘Jerry’ll help me pull Mart out,’ said the child aloud, half tohimself, half to the horse; and laying hold of the young man’s sleeve,he again began bravely tugging upon it. ‘Pull too, Jerry,’ urged thelittle fellow, while the animal stood wondering what it was he wasrequired to do. In a moment, however, he understood; and seizing theyoung man by the collar of his shirt, he speedily dragged him to landwithout much help from Arty. The affectionate creature recognized hisdriver, and stood over him with drooping head, bewildered at hishelplessness and silence. Mart opened his eyes, and groaned slightlyonce or twice, but immediately relapsed into unconsciousness. Arty satdown by his side, his little heart overflowing with grief and fear. Hekept crying for his father and his grandmother, and for Mart to open hiseyes. Jerry completed the sad group, standing over it as if on guard,and ever and anon lifting his head to send forth a shrill whinny ofappeal. This was the position in which, a half-hour later, guided byJerry’s signals, Steve Doyle and his party found them.
“Doyle had not caught the lumber thieves. The march of his party hadbeen so retarded by the thaw that they had halted before going half-way.As the storm increased, and they observed how the water was rising inthe brook beside which they had encamped, they became alarmed. Theyrealized the prospect of a big flood; and Steve Doyle led his men backin hot haste. It was full daylight when they came out upon thedevastated clearing where once had stood the camp.
“The horror in the lumbermen’s hearts is not to be described. In a pileof wreckage, strangely mixed up with hay and straw from the stable, theyfound the cook, with a leg and an arm broken, but still alive. Of no oneelse was there a sign, nor of the horses. From the cook, Doyle learnedof Arty’s presence in the camp. Without a word, but with a wild, whiteface, the man started down stream in a despairing search; and the wholeband followed, with the exception of two that stayed to take care of theunfortunate cook.
“When the father clasped Arty in his arms he was almost beside himselfwith joy for a few moments; then he remembered the poor fellows who weregone. Giving the child into the arms of one of the men, he busiedhimself with Mart, whom, by means of rubbing, he soon brought back toconsciousness. The brave fellow had been stunned by a blow on the head,and afterward half drowned; but he soon recovered so far as to be ableto walk with assistance. To Arty he owed his life, even as he hadhimself saved Arty’s.
“A little later a melancholy procession started back for BeardsleySettlement. The poor cook was placed on Jerry’s back, and bore his painlike a hero. Arty trudged by the side of McCann, to whose charge he wascommitted by his father, and Mart was helped along by two of hiscomrades. With these went five or six more of the hands, to get themsafely to the settlement. All the rest, under the leadership of SteveDoyle, set off down river on a search for the three missing men, ortheir bodies. And the site of the camp was left to its desolation.
“As for Doyle’s search, it proved fruitless, and the party returnedheavy-hearted. Henceforth the scene of the catastrophe became knownthroughout that region as ‘Lost Camp,’ and was sedulously avoided by thelumbermen. Next season the Ryckert Company’s camp on the Little St.Francis was built on higher ground some miles farther up stream.”
“That’s a most depressing tale, Queerman,” grumbled Ranolf. “I supposeit’s my turn now; and, thank goodness, I’ve got something frivolous totell!”
“Heave ahead, then,” urged Stranion.
“Your title?” I demanded.
“This is the tale of ‘The Cart before the Steer,’” replied Ranolf.
THE CART BEFORE THE STEER.
“‘Landry!’ shouted Squire Bateman, emerging from the big red door of thebarn with a pitchfork in his hand.
“Landry, an excitable little Frenchman, appeared suddenly around thewoodhouse, as if he had just been waiting to be called.
“‘Landry,’ said the squire, ‘you’re goin’ in to Kentville this mornin’for that feed, ain’t you?’
“‘Yes, sare,’ responded Landry.
“The farmer considered for a moment, chewing thoughtfully on a head ofwheat. Then he continued, ‘You’d better take the black-an’-white steeralong, and leave him at Murphy’s as you pass. He’s fat now as he’ll everbe, an’ it’s jest a waste o’ feed to keep on stuffin’ the critter.’
“‘’Ow’ll I take him, sare?’ queried Landry.
“‘Oh,’ replied the squire rather impatiently, turning back into thebarn, ‘hitch him to the back o’ the cart. He’ll lead all right!’
“On this point Landry seemed doubtful. He scratched his head anxiouslyfor a moment, and then darted off in his nervous way, so unlike thedeliberateness of hired men in general, to carry out his employer’sorders.
“The black-and-white steer was a raw-boned beast, about three years old,with no disposition to take on fat. There was a wild, roving expressionin his eye which made Landry, who knew cattle well, and appreciated thedifferences in their dispositions, very doubtful as to his docility whenbeing led to market. In Squire Bateman’s eyes, however, a steer was asteer; and if one could be led so could another. Squire Bateman had aconstitutional hatred of exceptions.
“When Landry was ready to start he hitched the steer to the cart-tailwith a strong halter, and set out with misgivings. But the steer proveddocility itself. It trotted along in indolent good humor, holding itshead high, and sniffing the fresh, meadow-scented air with delight. Bythe time they reached the top of Barnes’s Hill, a long descent about twomiles this side of Kentville, Landry had made up his mind that he haddone the animal an injustice. But just at this stage in the journeysomething took place, as things will so long as Fate remains thewhimsical creature she is.
“It chanced that a party of wheelmen from Halifax, on a tour through theCornwallis valley and the Evangeline regions, arrived at the top of thehill when Landry and his charge were about half-way down. The bicyclistswere riding in a long line, single file. Their leader knew the country,and he knew that Barnes’s Hill was smooth and safe for ‘coasting.’ Someof the riders, the leader among them, were on the old-fashioned highwheels, while others rode the less conspicuous ‘Safeties,’ then a newthing. Each man, as he dipped over the edge of the slope, flung his legsover the handles and luxuriously ‘let her go.’ They saw the team ahead,but there was abundance of room for safe passing.
“Now, Squire Bateman’s black-and-white steer had been brought up behindthe Gaspereau hills, where the wheelman delights not to wander. Abicycle, therefore, was in his eyes a novel and terrifying sight. As thewhirling and gleaming apparition flashed past he snorted fiercely, andsprang aside with a violence that almost upset the cart. Landry sprangto his feet, grinding his teeth with excitement and wrath, and the nextwheelman slipped radiantly by. This was too much for the black-and-whitesteer, and on the third wheel he made a desperate but ineffectualcharge.
“Ineffectual did I say? Well, only so far as that wheel was concerned;but he flung himself so far across the way that the next rider could notavoid the obstacle. The tall wheel struck the animal amidships, so tospeak; and the rider went right on and landed in a dismal heap. Theother riders darted aside up the bank into the fence, stoppingthemselves gracefully or ungracefully, but at any cost avoiding the nowquite demented beast that was blocking their way.
“The animal made a frantic dash at the unfortunate wheelman in thegutter, who had picked himself up with difficulty, and was feeling forbroken bones. He was beyond the steer’s reach, but discreetly hobbled tothe fence, and placed that welcome barrier between him and the foe. Thefury of the animal’s charge, however, had swung the cart right acrossthe road, and now the frightened horse began to plunge and rear. Landryheld him in partial control; and the next instant the s
teer made asecond mad rush, this time aiming at the bicycle which had struck him,and which now lay in the gutter. He reached the offending wheel, but atthe same time he upset the cart. Out went Landry like a rubber ball; andthe horse, kicking himself free of the traces, set out at a highlycreditable pace for Kentville.
“The rage of the little Frenchman, as he picked himself up, was Homeric.He abused the bellowing and bounding brute with an eloquence which, hadit been expressed in English, would have made the wheelmen on the otherside of the fence depart in horror. Then he seized a fence stake andrushed into close quarters, resolved to enforce his authority.
“At the moment of Landry’s attack, the steer had his horns very muchengaged in the wheel of the bicycle. As the fence stake came down withimpressive emphasis across his haunches, he tossed the machine in air,and charged on his assailant with great nimbleness and ferocity. Landryjust escaped by springing over the body of the cart; and at thisjuncture he congratulated himself that he had hitched the animal by sostrong a halter.
“By this time the bicyclists had reunited their forces a little below.Their leader, with the dismounted wheelman, now came to rescue thesuffering wheel. But there was no such thing as getting near it. Thesteer stood guard over his prize with an air that forbade anyinterference.
“‘It isn’t much good now, anyway,’ grumbled the victim. ‘I guess I’llhave to hobble on as far as Kentville, and borrow or hire another wheelthere. This ain’t worth mending now.’
“‘Oh, nonsense!’ replied the leader; ‘a few dollars will put it allright. We’ll leave it at Kentville to be sent back to Halifax by the D.A. R., and McInerney’ll fix it so you’d never know it had been broken!’
“‘Well,’ rejoined the discomfited one, ‘I don’t see how we’re going toget hold of it, anyway.’
“To this sentiment the steer bellowed his adherence. The leader of thewheelmen, however, glancing around at the encouraging countenances ofhis party, drew a small revolver from his hip pocket.
“‘Don’t you think,’ he said, addressing Landry, ‘we ought to shoot thisbeast? He is blocking the highway, and he is a menace to allpassers-by.’
“The astute Landry meditated for a moment.
“‘What might be your name, sare?’ he inquired.
“‘My name’s Vroot—Walter Vroot of Halifax,’ replied the wheelman.
“‘Eef you shoot ze steer, sare, Squire Bateman he make you pay for ’eem,sure,’ said Landry.
“At this there arose a chorus of indignation led by the discomfited one.But Mr. Vroot turned on his heel, thrusting his revolver back into hispocket.
“‘Perhaps,’ said he to Landry, ‘you’ll be so good as to bring thebicycle into Kentville with you when you come.’
“‘Sare,’ said Landry, ‘’ow is dat posseeble? I go in to Kentville rightnow to look after my ’orse.’
“In a few minutes the wheelmen had vanished in a slender and gleamingline, Landry and the wheelless one (whose name, by the way, was Smith)were tramping dejectedly townward, and the steer was left in absolutepossession of the cart, the wheel, and a portion of the Queen’s highway.
“In a short time the situation might have become monotonous for theanimal, as the road was dry and dusty, and the rich, short grass of theroadside beyond his reach. But just as he had got tired of demolishingthe bicycle, there came a diversion. A light carriage containing a ladyand gentleman appeared over the crest of the hill. The occupants of thecarriage were surprised and vexed at the obstacle before them.
“‘I think it’s perfectly outrageous,’ said the lady, ‘the way thesecountry people leave their vehicles right in the middle of the road.’
“‘There seems to have been some accident,’ remarked the man soothingly.
“‘What business had they going away and leaving things that way?’retorted the lady sharply. ‘You’ll have to get out and remove thatanimal before we try to pass.’
“By this time the horse, a mild livery-stable creature, was almostwithin reach of the angry steer, whose tail twitched ominously. The nextinstant, with a deep, grunting bellow, he charged at the horse, whoreared and backed just in time to save himself. The carriage came withinan ace of upsetting, and the lady shrieked hysterically. The man sprangout, and seized the horse by the head. The lady flung herself outdesperately over the back.
“‘Don’t be alarmed, my dear!’ said the man. ‘The animal is securelyfastened to the cart, and seems to have been placed there to guard theway. They seem to have very strange customs in Nova Scotia!’
“‘What _shall_ we do?’ queried the lady tearfully, gazing at the pawingand roaring steer.
“‘Why, there’s nothing to do but take down a piece of the fence anddrive around. There’s no occasion for alarm!’ replied the man.
“He backed the horse a little way, and then tied him to the fence whilehe made an opening. Then he made another opening at a safe distancebelow the obstacle, led the horse and carriage through, put the ladyback into the seat, and continued his journey philosophically. In thecourse of the next hour a number of other travellers approached, andtaking in the situation, followed the new route through the fields. Thesteer invariably bellowed, and plunged and lashed himself into mad ragein trying to get at them; but Squire Bateman’s halter and rope did theirduty, and all his efforts proved futile.
“But meanwhile the most astounding reports were flying about Kentville.Landry had secured the horse, and related the exact truth of the wholeaffair; but the various romantic and exciting embellishments ofwayfarers found most favor in the eventless country town. A little squadof men with guns set forth to quell the nuisance; and hard on theirheels followed Landry, bent on saving the property of his employer.
“When the party drew near, and realized how securely their antagonistwas tethered, they were in no haste to complete their errand. Thebrute’s rage was so blind and fierce that they amused themselves for alittle with the sport of tantalizing him. They would approach almostwithin his reach, and then dart back to a safer-looking distance; andpresently the animal was a mass of sweat and froth, churned with reddust of the highway. At last, just as one of the men raised his riflewith the intention of ending the play, the animal threw himself in oneof his maddest charges.
“Landry had just come up. The instant the steer fell he rushed forward,threw his coat over its head, and knotted the arms under its jaws.Breathless and bewildered, the panting brute ceased its struggles andlay quite still. In a moment or two it was lifted to its feet, thehalter was unhitched from the cart-tail, and Landry set out forKentville with the blindfolded steer following as gently as a lamb.”