CHAPTER XI
LESSONS IN TRACKING
"Queer!" ejaculated Rube, standing up and contemplating the gruesomeremnants of the skeleton. "Mortal queer it is. Can't make it out.How'd he come ter be fixed up thataway in the middle of the tree, dyin'thar all lonesome, like a poor critter caught in a trap? How'd ithappen, Kiddie?"
He appeared to expect Kiddie to tell him off-hand exactly how the thinghad occurred.
"Dunno," returned Kiddie, with a grave headshake. "It's a mystery.I'm trying t' think it out. What way was he fixed?"
"Can't just say," Rube answered slowly. "Inside the tree's like achimney. You c'n see daylight if yer looks up, as I did. I couldn'tsee that it was a man--a skeleton. Thar was a mass of honeycomb an'wax below what was left of his feet. I reached up an' seized hold o'somethin'. Guess it was one of the poor chap's legs. I was pullin' atit, an' pullin', when my foot slipped, an' the whole concern came downon top o' me, crumblin' into dust. How d'you reckon he got thar? Kiny'u explain?"
"Seems to me," said Kiddie, after a long pause, "that there are threepossible explanations. First, that he was killed by some enemy andshoved in there out of sight: which ain't at all likely, since it wouldhave been much easier to fling the body into the lake, and quite assafe from discovery to leave it lying here in the forest glade.Second, that he was escaping from some other Redskins, or even fromsome dangerous wild animal, and went into the hollow tree for safety."
"Climbin' too high, an' gettin' fixed so as he couldn't wriggle outagain either up or down?" suggested Rube.
"Exactly," nodded Kiddie. "But, if that was the way of it, why didn'this pursuers get on his tracks and find him? I'm not of opinion thathe had any pursuers, either animal or Indian. I believe he was just alone scout--a trapper, maybe, but a lonesome wanderer, anyway--and thathe was taking shelter from a storm. Perhaps he knew of that hollowtree: perhaps he came upon it by chance. It was a convenient shelterin either case. That's my third point."
"An' a reasonable one," commented Rube. "But it don't account fer howhe came t' be fixed in so high above the ground. If he was onlyshelterin', why didn't he walk out again when the storm was through?"
"I'm supposin' it was a snowstorm, or else a fierce blizzard," Kiddiewent on. "As the snow got deeper an' deeper, it would block up thehole that he entered by, and he'd work his way higher an' higher to getat the purer air. Maybe he'd wait till the storm was over, and thenthe snow might have been so deep that he'd think it easier to climbhigher still and escape that way rather than attempt to go back feetforemost and burrow a passage through the drift. And then he got sowedged in that there was no movin' and no means of escape either way,and he just had to stay there and die a lingerin' death."
"Yes," said Rube. "I guess that's th' explanation of the whole thing.Wonder where he come from. Pity thar's none of his clothes left: nogun, or knife, or watch, or pocket-book ter tell us who he was, an' allthat."
"He wouldn't be carryin' a gun or a watch," observed Kiddie, "andInjuns ain't in the habit of keepin' pocket diaries."
"Injuns?" repeated Rube questioningly. "D'you reckon this yer chap wasa Injun, then?"
"Certainly," Kiddie answered, "an Injun, young an' tall."
"H'm!" murmured Rube, not satisfied. "You just guessin' all that,Kiddie, or have you figured it out?"
"I've figured it out," returned Kiddie. "Look at his thigh bone--theonly bone that's left intact. It's longer'n mine, an' I ain't a pigmy.Must have been taller'n I am. Look at the teeth: they're not an oldman's teeth. There ain't a speck of decay on 'em, they're not worndown any, an' they're well separate one from another, not crushedtogether like an old man's. Must sure have been young."
"Yes," said Rube, "but all that don't prove he was Injun. White menc'n be tall; white men c'n have good teeth. How d'you make out he wasInjun?"
"By the shape of his skull for one thing," explained Kiddie--"thesquare jaw, the high cheek bones, the slopin' forehead. But more'n allI argue he was Injun because I calculate he was fixed tight in thetree, and was well on the way to bein' a naked skeleton long before anywhite man opened his eyes on the Rocky Mountains--yes, even perhapsbefore the Pilgrim Fathers landed in New England. That's why he didn'tcarry a gun. He didn't know there was such a thing as a gun, or awatch either."
"Git!" exclaimed Rube incredulously. "D'you expect me ter swaller atall yarn like that? Why, the tree couldn't have bin more'n a seedlin'all them years ago!"
"Well," returned Kiddie. "I'm not prepared to declare that it washollow, the same's it is now, in the time of the Pilgrim Fathers. Butit was already an old tree. I guess it was an old tree even beforeChristopher Columbus discovered America. What's the girth of it,anyhow? Measure the girth of it, just above the base."
Rube made the tour of the forest veteran, estimating its circumferencewith outstretched arms.
"I reckon it's just over twenty-four feet," he announced, "allowing forthe part that's missin' from th' open gap."
"Say eight feet in diameter," nodded Kiddie. "And it's one of theslowest growin' of all forest trees. I calculate that every inch ofdiameter represents at the very least ten years of growth. Eight feetequal ninety-six inches; an' that means nine hundred and sixty years.So you see the tree was quite a hundred years old at the time whenWilliam the Conqueror was King of England."
"Methuselah!" exclaimed Rube. "Then I ain't denyin' that it may havebin gettin' some ancient an' holler-hearted time of the Pilgrims. Buteven yet you ain't solved th' problem of just how long this yertrapper's bin dead."
"There's no way of tellin'," said Kiddie, "except by the condition ofthe bones. They crumble to dust at a touch, and as the protection ofthe tree was liable to preserve them rather than to hasten their decay,you wouldn't be a whole lot out if you argued, as I did at first, thathe was dead before ever a white man set eyes on the Rocky Mountains."
"Guess thar's no occasion fer Sheriff Blagg ter hold an inquest, then,"observed Rube, glancing round at the tin of honey. "Say, Kiddie, yougonner eat any o' that stuff--after where it come from?"
"Why not?" questioned Kiddie. "It's good, wholesome honey. We'llstore it away in the teepee, where the bees an' flies can't get foolin'around it. That rabbit stew goin' along all right, d'ye think? See ifit's seasoned enough. Onions are beginnin' ter flavour the woodlandair, eh? Good thing we ain't goin' t' a fashionable West-end partythis evenin'. I'd a heap rather smell of onions right here. Preferbein' here in any case. You've never bin to a party, Rube; never seenme togged out in evenin' dress, wearin' a swallow-tailed coat an' awhite bow an' patent leather pumps. But thar's a heap o' things you'venever seen. You've never seen a locomotive engine, or a steamship, ora Gothic cathedral, or a Japanese cherry orchard in blossom; don't knowwhat it means ter walk along an English lane, past cottages coveredwith roses. Thar's London an' Paris, thar's th' Atlantic Ocean an' thelone coral islands of the Pacific. Thar's pictures an' books an'theatres. Oh, thar's a whole world of interestin' things you've neverseen!"
"Makes me feel ter'ble ignorant," Rube regretted ruefully. "I dunnonothin' o' what's beyond th' mountains that I see ev'ry mornin' fromBirkenshaw's Camp. Don't know nothin'; can't do nothin'. I'm just asuseless as I'm ignorant."
Kiddie put his arm affectionately round the boy's shoulders as theymoved together towards the campfire.
"Not useless, Rube; not ignorant," he said, speaking now in hischaracter of Lord St. Olave. "You know things that thousands ofwell-educated English and American boys do not know; you can do thingswhich millions of clever boys are incapable of doing. I won't make youblush by telling you just what I think of you. I'll only say you'relearning more and more every day, and that every day you're provingyourself to be a better and a better scout."
He left Rube occupied with the cooking and went off to bring togetherthe animals that had been trapped.
"What d'yer say ter tryin' your hand at gettin' the pelts off en thesecritters?" he asked, when he returned a
nd had placed the animals sideby side. "It's best done while they're fresh."
"You're thinkin' of preservin' 'em, then?" questioned Rube.
"I'm thinkin' of mounting 'em," Kiddie answered, "but mainly forpractice. I took lessons when I was in London, from the people whopreserve animals for the British Museum, an' picked up a heap ofwrinkles. I want ter show you how it's done."
"How d'you reckon you're goin' ter get the skin off that rattlesnake?"Rube was anxious to know.
"Well," said Kiddie, "'tain't just as easy an' simple as drawin' offyour glove; but it's on the same principle."
They were engaged during the afternoon with the work of securing theskins and cleaning them. The carcases were cut up for use as bait forthe traps, the traps being plentifully baited and very carefully setfor the larger animals. Kiddie was again most particular in laying thegin for the same animal that had visited it and perplexed him on theprevious night.
"Guess that'll sure get him, whatever he is," said Rube.
He looked round for a response in agreement with his comment, butKiddie was not there.
"Which way've you gone, Kiddie?" he called.
But there was no answer.
Rube stood listening, but heard no sound. He called louder; there wasstill no answer.
Now, Rube knew Kiddie well enough to be assured that there was somespecial meaning in this sudden disappearance. It was not a mereplayful fancy. Kiddie had gone away intentionally, making no sound,leaving no sign. Clearly he wanted to test Rube's skill in tracking.
Rube remained standing where he was, but his eyes were alertlysearching around amongst the shrubs and trees and along the ground forsome mark or sign that might tell him in which direction Kiddie hadgone. He knew that success in following him depended entirely upon histrue start, and that a false beginning would only land him indifficulties, if not in his being actually lost.
Rube knew also that Kiddie would not play him any childish pranks, butwould give him fair play all through, even helping him by leaving some"scent" in his trail--not handfuls of torn-up paper, as in an Englishschoolboys' game of fox and hounds, nor by so obvious a method as thatof blazing the trees. It would be a test in which every faculty of thesearcher's scoutcraft would be brought into active exercise.
Sniffing the warm air, listening keenly, looking with sharp scrutinyover every foot of the ground from where Kiddie had stood behind him,Rube at length fixed his gaze upon a tuft of grass where some of theblades had been bent over as by the tread of a moccasined foot. Hewent closer to it and saw that some of the frail blades were fractured.Now he had his starting point. He did not rush forward, but carefullyestimated the probable direction, listening the while.
Presently there came to him the harsh cry of a jay, which told him ofKiddie's whereabouts, or at least of the line of Kiddie's coursethrough the forest solitudes.
And now he went on in pursuit, picking up the faintly-indicated tracksone by one; often going far astray on a false scent and needing toreturn on his own back trail to the point where he had gone off theline that had been so cunningly laid for his guidance or his confusion;but always coming upon some new clue that lured him on and on.
Many times he stood still in serious perplexity. Everything around himwas wild and unfamiliar, with no slightest trace or sign, either new orold, of human presence.
He might easily have allowed himself to be alarmed at the utterloneliness, and afraid lest he should lose himself. But he knew allthe time that if he should be lost, Kiddie would come out in search ofhim and quickly find him.
In his moments of deepest despair, however, he always discovered someobvious sign which he had previously overlooked, and at last heperceived that he had been led round in an exact triangle, for throughthe green meshes of the trees he caught a glimpse of the lake and athin blue column of fire-smoke, and then in the surrounding silence heheard Kiddie's well-known voice singing a snatch of a Scots ballad--
"Late, late in the gloaming, Kilmeny cam' hame."
"Hullo, Rube; got back inter camp, eh? Been wanderin' about the forestall on your own, have you? I've waited for you; got tea ready, yousee--all but boilin' th' eggs. Guessed you'd relish a couple of eggs."
Kiddie did not turn to look at Rube as he spoke. He was recliningbetween the teepee and the fire with his open note-book on his knee anda blacklead pencil in his fingers. Beside him was a newly-cut birchstick with part of the bark whittled off.
"Yes," Rube responded, halting near him and standing looking him up anddown in curious examination. "Yes, I allow I'm some hungry. Say, yourmoccasins are wet. Spilt some of the tea-water on 'em? Pity ter spoila nice pair of moccasins by wettin' 'em. You ain't written much withthat pencil. The point's still sharp since you sharpened it afterdinner."
Kiddie glanced at the pencil point and smiled.
"Might have sharpened it again, while I've been waitin'," he said.
"But you didn't," returned Rube. "There ain't no chips lyin'around--unless you've put 'em in your pocket, same's you did before."
Kiddie smiled again. He had moved to the fire to put on the eggs.
"You're becomin' quite observant, Rube," he said. "See anythin'special on your solitary wanderin's?"
"Guess I found this here scrap of paper," Rube answered. "Looks as ifit had been tore outer that note-book you was pretendin' to be writin'in--same size, same colour, an' thar's writin' on it, too. Looks likeyour own fist, don't it?"
Kiddie reached for the square of paper that was handed to him andexamined it as if he had never seen it before.
Kiddie reached for the square of paper.]
"Queer!" he ruminated, "it's sure my handwritin'--'_Bring this back tocamp_.' Where'd you pick it up?"
"Didn't pick it up at all," answered Rube. "Found it on a hickorybush, far, far in, as it might be the very heart o' the forest."
"Ah! Some mischievous jay bird plant it there, d'ye think?"
"Jay bird couldn't have written that message on it," said Rube. "Jaybird couldn't have fastened it with a twig drove through the paper terkeep it in place. Guess you heard a jay squawkin' a lot, didn't you,Kiddie?"
"Sure," Kiddie nodded. "Couldn't get quit of the fowl until you camealong on my track an' it started ter foller you instead of me. How'dyou find your way back to camp?"
"Came th' same way as you did, I reckon," answered Rube. "Went th'same way's you meant me ter go, all the time--trackin' you by the cluesyou left."
Kiddie was silent until the tea was quite ready and the two of themwere seated. Then he said--
"You've done a heap better'n I expected you to do, Rube. I didn'tleave many clues, there was none of them conspicuous, an' they werevery far apart--fifty yards apart at the least. Tell me exactly whatyou found."
"Well," said Rube, beginning on his tea, "first of all thar was a markof your foot where you went in so silent. Then' th' jay startedsquawkin', an' I got my direction. I follered it, an' hadn't gone farwhen I sees a balsam branch swayin' where thar was no wind ter stir it.I went straight forward until I began ter think I was goin' wrong, whenI smelt smoke. I searched an' came upon a bit of charred cloth. You'dsquandered a valuable lucifer match ter set fire t' a piece of greasyrag that you'd cleaned the lamp with. After that, I went astray;couldn't find a trace o' you nohow, an' had ter get back t' th' burntrag ter make a fresh start."
"Yes," interposed Kiddie, "just as I intended. The trees were allalike thereabout and easily mistaken one for another. Well?"
"Thar was one of 'em different," pursued Rube, "a silver birch treeamongst the cotton-woods--an' I found where you'd cut a stick from itan' smudged the cut so's it wouldn't easily be seen. Is that right?You carried that stick along of you--brought it home. Once or twiceyou scored a mark on the ground with th' point of it. You begancuttin' some of the bark from the stick, droppin' a bit every fiftyyards or so. But that was too easy for me. Any tenderfoot'd havefound them bits o' bark."
"Quite right," agree
d Kiddie, "an' you ain't anything of a tenderfoot.Yes? Well?"
"So you changed your scent, so ter speak. You felt in your pocket an'fetched out them chips o' lead pencil, an' you planted em one by one soall-fired cutely that nobody who wasn't searchin' fer signs c'd havediscovered 'em. One of 'em you dropped lightly on a branch of balsam,level with my eyes; another you hung up, even more lightly, on a lineof spider web. How did you manage that, Kiddie?"
Kiddie looked up from his spoonful of egg.
"Just laid th' chip in the palm of my hand an' blew it softly inter th'web, where it stuck suspended, like Mahomet's coffin," he explained.
"Don't know nothin' 'bout Mahomet's coffin," said Rube, "but that chipo' pencil was real cleverly done; it was top notch. After that, youdropped clues pretty freely, afraid o' my missin' 'em, I reckon. Youdidn't just blaze the trees; but you broke down twigs, you tore upferns an' things, you kicked up the soil with your toe, an' you scoredmarks with your stick. At one place you tied a knot in a clump of rushgrass, leavin' a pointer. I was follerin' you quick when at last Icome t' the creek, an' thar you had me. You waded into th'water--that's how you got your moccasins wet--an' you didn't cross; youwalked up the stream, I guess."
"Right," nodded Kiddie. "But that was a false scent. I didn't gofar--not more'n a dozen yards--I came out on the same side and dried myfeet."
"I saw where you did that," Rube went on. "It wasn't far from whereyou laid the three fir cones as a pointer, plain's a sign-post. Thenyou followed along by the creek to the tree where you hung up th' leaffrom your pocket-book. From there you made it easy for me, comin' homein a bee-line, scatterin' clues right an' left."
"Well, Rube, I'll say this," declared Kiddie, "that you did remarkablywell all through. There were not a great many clues that you failed topick up. You missed some important ones, however, which makes it allthe more surprisin' that you came back so quickly. We'll play thatsame game another time. It's good for us both. And now, I guess we'lljust wash up an' make the camp clean for the night before goin' out inthe canoe ter catch a fish or two, if it's not too late."