The Wilderness Castaways

“Maybe you better take the shotgun, Dan. You can shoot quicker than I can, and if we see any partridges we’ve just got to get them.”

“You shoots fine, but I knows better how t’ look for th’ pa’tridges, an’ I’ll take un. With th’ wind they’s like t’ be wonderful wild.”

Dan passed his light rifle over to Paul, and with Paul’s shotgun proceeded to the top of the ridge, keeping a careful lookout, as he walked, while Paul followed a little distance in the rear. On the summit Dan halted until Paul joined him.

“’Tis fine,” said Dan; “look now.”

Below them lay a wooded valley, the green spruce trees splotched with golden yellow patches, where groves of tamaracks had taken on their autumnal coloring. To the westward a small lake shimmered in the sunlight, and leading to the southward from it could be traced the winding course of a creek which was presently lost among barren hills beyond.

“Isn’t it fine!” exclaimed Paul.

“An’ ’tis like t’ be a game country.”

“Oh, I hope so!”

“Now I’ll be leadin’ ag’in, an’ you follows a bit behind.”

A little way down the slope Dan stopped again, and when Paul overtook him, pointed to the berries at his feet.

“See th’ signs? They’s been feedin’ right here. Just over there they been wallerin’ in th’ sand.”

He went forward again noiselessly, carefully scanning the receding slope ahead. Presently he began a more cautious advance, halting now and again and then advancing.

All at once, quick as a flash he threw the gun to his shoulder and fired—bang! bang!—both barrels almost as one. Quickly he dropped two fresh shells in the gun, and running forward fired both barrels again. As he did so a great flock of ptarmigans, with a noise like the wind, rose and flew far away, apparently alighting at the edge of the timber below them.

Paul hurried down to Dan, who was gathering up the fruits of his hunt. There were eleven fat birds, now nearly white, in their winter dress.

Paul, in happy thankfulness, could scarcely control his emotion.

“It seems almost too good to be true, Dan!” he said finally.

“I finds un fine too,” admitted Dan. “They was wonderful tame for a windy day, an’ just runs instead of flyin’ after I fires th’ first shots. That gives me time t’ load an’ shoot ag’in.”

“But how did you get so many with just four shots? Oh, Dan, I believe it’s just as you always say; it was Providence sent us here and let you get so many.”

“’Twere that. On th’ ground I lines ’em up, an’ knocks over two or three to a shot, except th’ last shots, when they flies away, I only gets one on th’ wing. ’Tis hard t’ get more ’n one when they’s flyin’. Th’ Lord just kept ’em on th’ ground!”

“And now we can eat again!” exclaimed Paul.

“Yes, an’ th’ finest kind o’ eatin’ too. I’ll be lookin’ for th’ flock, where they flies to, an’ try for another shot, while you plucks two, an’ cooks un,” suggested Dan, and when they reached the edge of the timber he directed:

“Go straight in here till you comes t’ th’ creek, an’ put on your fire there, an’ I’ll be findin’ you.”

Entering the timber, Paul found himself sheltered from the wind, in pleasant contrast to the open hills. Scarcely two hundred yards from where he parted from Dan he came upon the creek. Though he had no axe he made his fire without difficulty, profiting by the wood lore learned from Dan. He had also learned the knack of plucking birds quickly, and in a little while had the two ptarmigans, impaled upon sticks, broiling before the blaze, while he basked in the warmth, and filled in his time plucking the remaining birds.

Dan had not yet put in his appearance when Paul decided that the ptarmigans were quite done. He removed them from the fire, and with a strong exercise of self-restraint waited for Dan to join him in the repast. Presently, however, hunger got the better of him.

“There isn’t any use waiting for Dan,” he finally said to himself. “I simply can’t stand it another minute,” and he ate one of the birds with a relish beyond anything, he thought, that he had ever before experienced. The temptation to eat the other was very strong but he turned his back upon it, and, lying down, was presently dozing.

How long he had been asleep he did not know, but at length he opened his eyes, suddenly wide awake, with a consciousness that something was watching him. The fire had died to smouldering coals, and he was cold, but fear of the watcher impelled him to remain motionless and still, while he peered into the shadow of the timber.

Presently he discovered in a clump of bushes on the opposite side of the creek a pair of glowing amber-green eyes. They were malicious, piercing eyes, and Paul’s heart stood still for a moment. Then he remembered what Dan had often told him: “They ain’t nothin’ in this country t’ be scared of unless you comes on a big pack o’ wolves, an’ they’s mostly cowards,” and his courage returned.

Very cautiously he reached for Dan’s rifle, and with exceeding care sighted it upon a spot just between the glistening eyes. Then steadying his nerves, and holding his breath for an instant, he fired.

Simultaneously with the explosion something sprang into the air and then fell back upon the ground. Whatever the thing was, he had hit it. Highly excited, he dropped the rifle, and regardless of the icy waters forded the creek, dashed up the opposite bank, and without doubt that the animal was quite dead, ran directly in, incautiously, toward the clump of bushes where it had fallen.

Suddenly, when less than ten feet from the bushes, a great snarling, malevolent cat-like beast appeared at the edge of the cover, directly before him.

Paul stopped, stupefied at the unexpected appearance. The animal crouched for a spring. It was too late to retreat. Paul’s heart stood still. A cold chill ran up his spine. He had left his rifle at the fire, and was quite defenseless, save for the hunting knife at his belt. He grabbed the knife, and as the beast leaped toward him instinctively threw up his arms to guard his face.

Its fore paws landed squarely upon his shoulders. With one hand he grasped its throat, and with a tremendous, unnatural strength pushed it from him, while with the other hand he slashed blindly with his knife at its body. He could feel its sharp claws tearing his flesh. Then the earth began to reel, darkness came, and he fell unconscious.

CHAPTER XII

FACTOR MACTAVISH OF FORT RELIANCE

WHEN Paul opened his eyes he felt very damp and uncomfortable. As his vision cleared he beheld Dan standing over him with his hat full of water, which Dan was undoubtedly about to dash into his face.

“Don’t Dan! Don’t throw that on me!” he plead weakly. “What you wetting me down that way for?”

“You comin’ to all right?” asked Dan. “You fainted, an’ I were sousin’ you t’ bring you to. I’m thinkin’ I better souse you this un. ’T will do no harm.”

“Oh, Dan–”

But Paul’s protest came too late, and he received the contents of the hat full in his face.

“There,” said Dan with satisfaction, “I’m thinkin’ that’ll be enough, an’ bring you to, all right. How you feelin’?”

“All right now.” His voice was stronger, but still weak. “That thing ’most killed me, didn’t it?”

“You’re a long way from dyin’ yet, but you were havin’ a rare fine fight with th’ varmint, an’ when you kills un you faints. Feelin’ stronger? I’m thinkin’ a bit more water’ll be helpin’ you, now.”

“No! No, Dan!” plead Paul, trying to rise, but still too weak. “Don’t throw any more water on me. I’m soaked and freezing with it now.”

“Well, maybe you’re havin’ enough,” said Dan, uncertainly. “Dad says th’ best thing t’ bring a feller around when he gets done up is plenty o’ water.”

“What kind of an animal was that? When it came leaping at me I thought my time had come.”

“’Twere a lynx, an’ a wonderful big un, too, an’ nice an’ fat. He’ll make fine eatin’. How’d he come t’ fight? I never heard o’ one fightin’ before. They always runs.”

“Why, I shot him, and thought I’d killed him, and when I came over without the rifle he jumped on me.”

Dan examined the bloody carcass of the great lynx lying by Paul’s side.

“There’s where your bullet comes,” said he, pointing at a furrow along the top of the head. “’T were breakin’ th’ skin an’ stunnin’ he. He just comes to, like you’re doin’ now, when you gets over, an’ bein’ sort o’ cornered he jumps on you. That’s th’ way of all beasts. Anything’ll turn on a feller when ’tis cornered.”

“I thought I was a goner, and I don’t understand how I ever killed it. Do I seem to be hurt much? I feel sore all over.”

“Not so bad. Scratched a bit, but ’t ain’t no account. You sticks your knife in his heart. Feelin’ like gettin’ up now?”

“I’ll try.”

With Dan’s assistance Paul rose to his feet, but he felt very weak, and uncertain on his legs.

“I never can walk back to the boat, Dan.”

“We’ll not be goin’ back t’ th’ boat this evenin’. There, keep a good holt of me, an’ we’ll cross th’ creek an’ put a fire on. You’re shiverin’ with th’ cold.”

Dan piloted the tottering Paul to a comfortable place beside the embers of Paul’s former fire, relighted the fire and presently had a cheerful blaze. Then he broke some spruce boughs for a couch, and when Paul said he was quite comfortable and feeling “bully good again, except for the sore spots,” Dan spread out before him a porcupine, a big Arctic hare and five more ptarmigans.

“That’s what I were gettin’ on th’ hunt,” he announced proudly. “Now what you thinkin’ o’ un?”

“Dan, that’s just fine. Why, we can live like kings now. I suppose that’s a porcupine, isn’t it? And of course it’s good to eat—everything seems to be good to eat in this country.”

“Yes, they’s rare fine eatin’. I likes un as well as deer’s meat. Now I’ll have a snack an’ then pack th’ tent an’ beddin’ in here. I feels wonderful gaunt.”

“Dan, you’re a wonder! Here you’ve been tramping after game all this time, and stopping to help me, without a thing to eat since yesterday.”

“If a feller gets game he’s got t’ keep after un when he sees un,” commented Dan, between mouthfuls of the now cold ptarmigan Paul had cooked for him. “An’ ’tis tastin’ wonderful fine, now I gets un. We’ll be havin’ a good feed when I gets back, an’ we’ll find th’ tent rare snug in this timber, free from th’ gale. She’s blowin’ wonderful stiff outside.”

“I’m strong enough now, I guess, to go along and help carry the things. I don’t want you to do it alone, Dan. You do all the hard things,” and Paul attempted to rise.

“You’ll be stayin’ where you is,” objected Dan, forcing Paul back upon his couch. “’Tis but a light load for me. I’m used t’ packin’, an’ I’ll not be long.”

“I do feel pretty weak,” admitted Paul, settling on his couch again.

When Dan returned an hour later the sun had set. He brought with him the tent, blankets, cooking utensils and stove, but declared they were not heavy. He declined Paul’s assistance in pitching the tent, and working with the skill of a woodsman soon had all in readiness for the night, a fire in the stove, and three ptarmigans stewing in the kettle.

“They’s a wonderful rough sea runnin’,” he remarked when he finally sat down. “I’m thinkin’ we’ll not be gettin’ out o’ here for two days yet. Th’ wind’s shifted t’ th’ west’ard an’ she’s blowin’ a gale, an’ she’s kickin’ up a sea as won’t settle in a day after th’ blow stops.”

Dan’s weather prophecy proved quite correct, and three days passed before they were permitted by weather and sea to break camp and resume their journey. Paul’s wounds were not serious, though the deep scratches he had received were painful and troublesome. However, he was able while they remained ashore to attend to camp duties, while Dan hunted.

Under Dan’s direction he roasted the four quarters of lynx and the porcupine, together with another porcupine Dan had secured, as a reserve supply of food. The porcupines were placed upon the coals and the quills and hair thoroughly singed off, after which they were scraped. This done, a big log fire was built. On either side and slightly in front of the fire a stake was driven, and a pole extending from stake to stake was tied in position. From the pole, and directly before the fire, the porcupines and quarters of lynx were so suspended, each at the end of a string, that they hung just high enough to clear the ground. By occasionally twirling the string upon which each was hung, every portion of the roasting meat was exposed to the heat and thoroughly cooked.

Paul found Dan’s estimate of porcupine not at all overdrawn. He declared it not unlike, and even superior to, roasted young pig; and the lynx he insisted was equal to the finest veal.

Dan’s hunting during this period brought them, besides the second porcupine, forty more ptarmigans and three snowshoe rabbits. Thus when they broke camp they were not only well fed but were well supplied with provisions for several days.

It was early dawn of a keen, cold morning when they turned toward the boat with the outfit on their backs. The frost crackled under foot, and when the sun broke out, as they were crossing the berry-covered ridge, it set the frost-covered earth sparkling and scintillating, transforming it into a fairy world strewn with diamonds.

From the hilltop they could see the sea stretching far away to the eastward in a silvery, shimmering sheen.

“Isn’t it immense!” exclaimed Paul, as they sat beside their packs for a brief rest. “I’ve learned to love the sea, in spite of the rough way it’s knocked us about, and I’ll be mighty glad to be afloat again.”

“’Tis wonderful fine,” admitted Dan, rising to lead the way down.

A gentle swell was running, and with a good sailing breeze from the northwest they made excellent progress. To their astonishment, however, they discovered early in the afternoon a long coast line, just discernible, directly east of them.

“Now this must be a bay we’re runnin’ into,” suggested Dan when this new coast was discovered, “and I’m thinkin’ ’t will be best to cross un, for if we runs t’ th’ head of un we’ll be losin’ a rare lot o’ time.”

Accordingly they took an easterly course, and with sunset made a comfortable landing and cheerful camp, where driftwood in plenty was to be found for their stove. It was a cozy, snug camp, and a savory supper of hot broth and boiled birds, added to the satisfaction of having accomplished a good day’s voyage to the southward, made them very jolly and happy.

When they had eaten Dan produced his harmonica and blew a few notes. Suddenly he ceased the music and listened intently, then springing to his feet left the tent. Paul, aware that something of importance had happened, was close at his heels. Outside Dan listened again, keeping silence for several minutes. Then he asked excitedly:

“Does you hear un? Does you hear un?”

“Yes, what is it?” asked Paul, also excited. “Wolves?”

“Dogs! ’Tis husky dogs! They’s huskies clost by t’ th’ east’ard, an’ them’s their dogs howlin’! Hear un!”

They were silent again for a moment, to be certain that there was no mistake, and as the distant “How-oo, how-oo, how-oo” came up from the eastward, Paul shouted:

“Hurrah! Hurrah!” and then threw his cap in the air in an ecstasy of delight.

“They’s down t’ th’ east’ard, an’ we’ll sure see un tomorrow,” said Dan. “When I first hears un in th’ tent, I were thinkin’ ’t were wolves howlin’, they howls so like wolves. But ’t ain’t wolves, ’tis sure husky dogs.”

“And tomorrow we’ll meet people again, even if they are huskies, and our troubles will be ended! Oh, Dan, I’m so thankful I can hardly contain myself!”

They sat and talked about home and the hope of the morrow until late, and even when they did lie down excitement and anticipation kept them still talking and awake until at last they fell into restless sleep.

Long before daybreak Dan arose very quietly for a look at the weather and to light the fire, but quiet as he was Paul heard him. “Is it time to get up, Dan?” he asked.

“’T will soon be time,” answered Dan. “I wakes an’ gets up, for we’re wantin’ t’ be early, sure, so’s t’ be fair ready t’ start soon’s we can see.”

“I can hardly wait to get away!” exclaimed Paul.

Breakfast was eaten in darkness, and the boat loaded and ready for the start before the first hint of dawn appeared in the east. In spite of their impatience Dan deemed it unwise, however, to venture upon the unknown waters until it was sufficiently light to avoid submerged reefs and treacherous bars, and for nearly an hour they were compelled to walk up and down the shore to keep warm, for the morning was stinging cold. At length Dan announced:

“We may’s well be goin’ now. ’T is fair light.”

They hugged the shore closely, turning the boat into every cove and bight, that there might be no possibility of missing the Eskimos for whom they were looking.

“There!” said Dan at length. “There they is!”

Deep down in a cove, in a shelter of a towering ledge of rocks, stood a skin tupek of the Eskimos. Two men and some women and children, who had discovered the approaching boat even before Dan had discovered them, were watching them curiously from the beach.

The welcome was most hospitable, as the welcome of Eskimos always is, everyone shaking hands with Paul and Dan, laughing and greeting them with “Oksunae.”

Presently they learned that one of the men could speak broken English, and Dan related to him, making him understand with some difficulty, their adventures.

“Kablunok soon,” said he, “close.”

“No understand. What’s ‘kablunok’?” Dan asked.

“Kablunok, white man. Very close.”

“Where is un?”

“Post; there,” pointing south. “Very close. Mr. MacTavish.”

The Eskimos indicated a direction apparently inland from their position.

“No water?” asked Dan. “We walk?”

“No; water plenty. Big point,” explained the Eskimo, drawing on the sand two parallel lines, rounded together at one end. “Land,” he explained. “We here,” indicating a point on one side of it, “post here,” indicating another point almost directly opposite. “Umiak, boat, sail round.”

This made the situation clear to Dan. The Eskimo encampment was on one side of a long, narrow peninsula, while on the opposite side of the peninsula was located a trading post, and by sailing around the extreme point of the peninsula they would presently reach the post.

The lads were anxious to proceed at once, but the Eskimos insisted upon their drinking some hot tea which one of the women had prepared. They then said adieu to their friends, and with light hearts and high expectations resumed their journey, which they felt was now, with all its hardships and uncertainties, soon to end.

Early in the forenoon the sun disappeared behind thickening gray clouds, and before midday, when they rounded the point, an early storm was threatening. But the young wanderers gave small thought to this, for presently they were to reach the post, where they would be secure from wintry blast and driving snow. In their impatience the time passed tediously, and dusk was settling when at last Dan exclaimed:

“There she is! There’s th’ post!”

Lying back from the shore were the low white buildings of Fort Reliance, a famous post of the Hudson Bay Company. Smoke was rising from its chimneys, and as they looked lights began to flicker in the windows. Behind the post rose rugged, barren hills of storm-scoured rocks. On a flat bit of ground to the westward of the buildings Indian campfires lighted the thickening gloom, and in dark silhouette Indian tepees stood out against the sky line. But despite its austere setting and bleak surroundings, old Fort Reliance appealed to the two expectant, weather-beaten youths as the most attractive haven on earth.

It was quite dark when the bow of their boat finally grated upon the gravelly beach below the post. The landing was deserted, save by skulking, sinister-looking wolf dogs which prowled about, snarling at one another, ever ready to attack the unwary man or beast that fell in their way.

The first flakes of the coming snowstorm were falling as the boys sprang ashore and made fast their boat. This secured, they followed a well-beaten path to the door of a long, low building whose cheerfully lighted windows bespoke warmth and comfort within. On the threshold they hesitated for a moment, then Dan knocked boldly upon the door.

“Come in,” a voice called.

Paul took the lead, and entering they found themselves in a large square room, lighted by kerosene lamps and heated by a big wood stove which crackled a cheery welcome. Next the walls were several desks, two of them occupied by young men busily engaged with their pens.

“Why, hello,” said the one near the door. “I thought it was one of the men. Are you up from York factory?”

“No,” answered Paul, “we came from the north. We got lost in the fog, and our ship got away without us.” With this introduction he told the story briefly of their experiences. “And,” continued he, “we want to put up here until a ship comes for us. I suppose that won’t be until next summer, but my father will send it then, and he’ll pay your bill.”

“You’ll have to talk with Mr. MacTavish, the master of the post, about that. He’ll be in soon. Sit down.”

Presently the door opened, and a tall, broad-shouldered, powerful man, with full gray beard and shrewd eyes, entered. The young man stepped smartly forward.

“These young fellows went adrift from their ship somewhere to the northward, sir,” said he. “They’ve worked their way down here in a small boat, and they want to be put up for the winter.”

Paul and Dan had respectfully risen to their feet. Mr. MacTavish’s appearance as he surveyed them was anything but reassuring. There was a certain hard look about his eyes and mouth that was repelling. His attitude was not cordial, even before he spoke.

“Do you want to buy provisions?”

“No,” answered Paul, “we want to put up here for the winter.”

“This isn’t a hotel; it’s a Hudson Bay trading post. If you want to pitch your tent, one of the men will point you out a good place, and you can buy provisions at the shop.”

“But,” said Paul, his heart sinking, “we haven’t any money,” and he proceeded again to relate with detail the story of their adventures. “My father is rich,” he added, “and he’ll pay all our expenses when the ship comes for us. You must have heard of him. He is John Densmore, president of the Atlantic and Pacific Steamship Company, and the head of a lot of other big companies.”

“I tell you this isn’t a hotel, young man, and even if your father is all you say, it’s no recommendation to me. I don’t like you Americans. But to be plain, I don’t believe your yarn. I know your type. You’ve deserted from a whaler, and you probably stole the boat you have. I can harbor neither thieves nor deserters,” and he turned toward one of the desks in dismissal of them.

For a moment Paul was quite stupefied with the affront. Then his pride and a sense of deep injustice roused his antagonism, and, stepping before the bulky figure of Factor MacTavish, he exclaimed:

“Do you mean to call us deserters and thieves? You’re the head of this place and you can do as you want to about giving us a place to stay, but you can’t call us thieves and deserters. I want you to understand I’m a gentleman, and I won’t be spoken to in this way by one like you.”

With this outbreak Paul’s lips began to tremble, and he was at the point of tears. Factor MacTavish was taken wholly by surprise. He was accustomed to browbeat and insult the natives and people under him, and none ever ventured a retort. Here was a different type of person. He had expected a cringing appeal to follow his cruel charge. But instead this youth, placing honor and good name above any consideration of personal comfort and safety, boldly defied him. Here certainly was a youth of spirit and of courage, and he admired the characteristics. The big man looked down at Paul in silent, amused astonishment. This attitude angered Paul almost beyond restraint. His eyes flashed, he doubled his fists, and swallowing his emotion, blurted out:

“I feel like striking you! You’re a big coward to speak to two boys that way!”

Dan had until now kept silent. Paul’s speech quite dumbfounded him for a moment, but quickly aware that his friend was thoroughly in earnest in the threat, and fearing that he would actually attack the big man, he grabbed Paul’s arm and drew him back.