Читать книгу Camping in the Winter Woods: Adventures of Two Boys in the Maine Woods - Elmer Russell Gregor - Страница 7

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The boys were awake early, and, quickly dressing themselves, they rushed outside to await the appearance of the sun. Ben had told them that the day must be warm and cloudless, for then the bees would work well. Having waited until the sun was some little distance above the horizon, and all danger of a cold or rainy day was past, the hungry lads entered the cabin and ate the meal which the guide had prepared.

As the morning wore on and developed into all the glories of a perfect “Indian summer” day, even Ben became enthusiastic, and declared it just right for the lining of bees.

“Where must we go to find the bees?” asked George.

Before replying Ben took a small bottle from the pantry-shelf. Uncorking it, he began sniffing at the contents. He also brought forth a fruit-jar filled with strained honey, a tablespoonful of which he diluted with warm water and poured into a saucer. Then he found a good-sized piece of old honeycomb. Gathering these things together, he was ready to start.

“We’ll just go down to that little clearing by the lake, where we can see them work,” he said, as Ed and George followed him from the cabin.

In this little woodland meadow some goldenrod had grown and bloomed, and about the blossoms several bees were buzzing industriously when Ben and the boys arrived. The guide seemed much pleased at finding them there, and said he would soon get a line when he had things ready.

He explained that a line was the direction of the bee-tree which held the honey. He said that this was found by watching the bees, who, when they had loaded up with the sweets set out for them, would rise in the air and, after circling about the locality once or twice, would start off in a straight line for the distant tree. Ben cautioned the boys to watch the line of flight as far as they could see it. Then, when they were sure of its general direction, he would move on to where it had faded from their vision, and again set out his bait. They must repeat this operation until they found themselves near the tree. Then they would begin a search for it.

He said he was glad to find the bees at work on the goldenrod. It would save him the necessity of building a fire and rubbing the honeycomb on a hot stone, so that the scent would draw the bees.

Ben uncorked a bottle which contained anise-seed oil. He broke off several blossoming stems of the goldenrod and poured a few drops of the liquid on each. Then he placed them on or near the saucer containing the strained honey, and, bidding the boys be seated, sat down to await developments.

“There’s one now!” cried Ed, as a bee alighted on the edge of the saucer and began to load up with the honey.

Ben nodded his head and smiled.

“There’ll be hundreds here in an hour,” he promised.

“Can they smell it so far away?” asked George.

“No; but these will come back and bring more. You’ll see, before long. Look out! Watch him, over your head there! See him circle? There he goes! Now watch him as far as you can,” cautioned the guide, as the first bee started away for the unknown tree.

“I’ve lost him!” wailed Ed.

“I see him—no, he’s gone!” cried George.

“Never mind, there’ll be many more,” Ben told them. “Watch that fellow on the rim of the saucer; he’s going in a second. There he goes! See him circle? Watch now, watch close, he’s circling again—there he goes—same way,” he declared, shading his eyes with his hands.

For some minutes no more bees appeared, and the boys began to fear that something was wrong. Then three at once alighted on the saucer, and Ben said the tree was not far away. While they were watching them two more came; then others, by ones and twos, until there were fifteen or twenty at the feast. The watchers were kept busy turning and twisting their heads to follow the swift flight of the little workers as each started away with its hoard of sweets. More bees came every moment, until they were arriving and leaving in a steady stream.

Ben had meanwhile discovered what he called a cross-line. Bees from another colony in a different tree had found the tempting feast. They were coming and leaving in a different direction from that taken by the first lot. He decided to follow up the original line, for he believed their tree to be the nearer. He said they would leave this second lot until another day, although he hoped to get all the honey they required from the colony they were tracing.

At length he declared it time to move along the line. Choosing a dead hemlock some distance away, on the side of a hardwood ridge, as the spot where the bees faded from sight on their flight, the guide led the boys through the woods in its direction.

After a hard scramble up the hillside they reached the hemlock and sat down to await the bees. They had not been there long before the industrious little toilers covered the saucer, pushing and crowding one another in their efforts to get their share of the honey it contained. They flew away in the same direction as before, and Ben knew he was on the line. Basing his prophecy on the increased number of bees, he said that with the next moving they should be within reach of the tree.

Once more they traveled on, this time over the ridge and down the other side into a heavily timbered ravine. Here the guide thought they would find the honey-tree. Indeed, no sooner were they seated than bees by the hundreds flocked to the bait. These left without circling, and Ben said it was a sure sign the tree was near.

The bee-hunters rose and began a close inspection of each tree-trunk in the vicinity, looking carefully up and down its length for some opening or cavity which might proclaim the entrance to a hive within. Ben told the boys to travel along in sight of him, one on either side, and urged them to inspect each tree thoroughly. He reminded them that bees sometimes went in an opening at the very bottom, and at other times near the tiptop.

Finally George, who was at the right of the line, came to a great weather-beaten pine with a large cavity in its trunk near the base. He felt sure this was the tree that contained the honey. Stooping down, he foolishly put his face to the opening in an effort to obtain a view of the inside. Luckily there were no bees there, but something else flew out and struck him full in the face. And then, as he fell over on his back from the suddenness of the attack, a perfect army of bats came chattering from the tree. Thrusting his hands before his face, George ran from the spot.

Just then Ed called out that he had found the tree. Hurrying to the place where he and Ben stood gazing at a hole near the top of a giant oak, George saw a steady swarm of bees entering and leaving the cavity.

“Guess we’ll have to cut that to-night,” said Ben. “There ought to be a pile of honey in there, boys. But you can’t always tell; sometimes the biggest trees hold the least honey.”

There was an angry buzzing about their heads, and they ducked and ran.

“We’ll mosey along out of here and go home and make some torches. Then we’ll come back after dark and go to work,” Ben promised.

George told of finding the bats, and his companions laughed heartily.

“They roost in a hollow tree like that by the thousands sometimes,” said the guide. “I’ve done the same thing you did, often. Why, I’ve had them strike me in the face so hard that my eye swelled up.”

“What’s that?” demanded Ed, stopping to listen.

“That? That’s our friend the grouse again, only this time he’s drumming,” replied Ben.

“Drumming!” exclaimed the boys, in unison.

GROUSE DRUMMING ON A LOG

“Yes, that’s what we call it. He wins his mate that way in the spring. Sometimes on a nice day, like this, in the fall, he comes to a warm, sunny spot in the woods and starts drumming, just like it was spring again.”

“How does he do it?” inquired George, as the hollow, booming roll came from the deep, silent woods.

“Why, he stands on a log, or rock, and beats the air with his wings.”

Ben knelt down and imitated the sound by pounding the ground with his closed fist.

“When a grouse is drumming like that, you can walk right up to him. All you need do is to get his direction, and then hurry toward him while he’s busy drumming. As soon as he stops, or a little sooner, you must remain perfectly still. Then, when he drums again, move on, until you come in sight of him.”

The boys made a note of this, and determined to try the experiment at the first chance.

Arrived at the cabin, Ben busied himself in preparing the sulphur torches. He took strips of burlap and wound them tightly about the ends of pine sticks. Between each roll of the canvas he sprinkled a generous quantity of powdered sulphur.

He explained that when the tree fell some one must run forward and hold a lighted torch at the cavity. The torch-bearer must then blow the sulphur fumes down into the trunk to disable the bees till the honey could be “boxed out” and secured.

Toward late afternoon the boys were surprised to hear the deep, musical baying of a hound in the woods near at hand. Ben came to the door at the sound, and peered expectantly down the trail.

“I’ll bet it’s Bill Lang,” he declared, and he uttered a loud helloa, which was instantly answered. “Yep, that’s him, boys. Now you’ll hear some real stories from a genuine trapper.”

A lean, black and white hound, with long, trailing ears, came out of the woods and wiggled its way to Ben to be petted.

“Helloa, Moze,” cried the guide, stooping to reach the dog; “where’s Bill, eh?”

Then a thick-set man about the age of Ben came into view and waved his hand at the group in the doorway.

“Helloa, Bill!”

“Howdy, Ben.” And the trapper turned his keen eyes on the boys, who were endeavoring to make friends with his dog.

“Boys, this is my friend, Bill Lang. Bill, I’ve picked up a couple of ‘pards’ since you were here. Shake hands with Ed Williams and George Rand, young friends of mine from the city. They’re here to learn something about the woods.”

“That’s not the son of Doctor Williams, who comes out here to hunt and fish, is it?” inquired the trapper, looking at Ed searchingly.

“That’s just who he is,” responded the guide.

“Well, if he takes after the ‘old man’ he ought to be all right,” declared the new-comer, as he picked up the basin and retired outside to wash.

“Prospecting for a trap line?” inquired Ben of the trapper, when they were at supper.

“Yes, sort of looking the country over a little bit,” he replied. “So you’re going to cut a bee-tree, are you? Well, I said to myself, to-day, that the bees ought to work good. How far from here is it?”

“Not more than a scant mile,” Ben assured him. “We got another line, too, but couldn’t stop to bother with it. Better stay over and take some of the honey; there’s likely to be more than we’ll need.”

“Why, like as not I will,” agreed the trapper, much to the delight of the boys.

As soon as it was dark they started off for the tree. Ben went ahead with the lantern, the torches, and an ax; George came next, carrying a dish-pan and a large iron spoon; then Ed followed with a pail; and the trapper brought up the rear with his ax and another pail.

Although the stars shone brightly overhead, it was very dark in the woods. The boys, unaccustomed to such travel, stumbled and fell many times before they brought up at the tree. The lantern was immediately concealed behind a rock, so its glare would not attract the bees. Then, cautioning Ed and George to tie their handkerchiefs about their faces, the guide and his friend prepared to fell the tree.

The blows of their axes resounded through the woods, and great chips flew through the air as the cutting blades bit their way into the heart of the oak. Occasionally the choppers paused to gaze upward at its swaying top, for it was important that the tree should fall with the hole uppermost. Then, bending, they again attacked it with powerful, swinging blows, until it began to creak, and give, and totter. Ben seized the boys and pushed them aside, and the forest monarch crashed to earth, the butt bounding back from the stump high in the air.

Hardly had the great tree fallen before Bill was at the hole with a sulphur torch. The lads ran forward to see what he was doing, and were choked by the fumes he was blowing down into the trunk. They distinctly heard the loud, angry buzzing of thousands of imprisoned bees, and were thankful that the trapper stood guard with his torch. A few managed to escape him and forced the boys to dodge and run by buzzing angrily about their ears.

While Bill stood bravely by the entrance and sent the stifling fumes of his torch into the tree, Ben mounted the prostrate trunk. He began cutting out a wide strip directly above the place where he heard the fierce buzzing, now grown weaker and less threatening, thanks to the trapper and his torch.

The others laughed heartily when Bill got a whiff of his own medicine and doubled up gasping and coughing, his lungs full of sulphur fumes. Their joy was short-lived, however, for at that very instant George was stung on the back of the neck and the guide behind the ear. Bill declared it served them right for laughing at him.

Ben called for the lantern and the remaining torch, which Ed quickly brought him. He lifted out the slab he had chopped free, and instantly thrust the torch into the long opening. Then he asked for the pan, and began to take great strips of dripping comb from inside the tree. The cavity was about four feet long, and was lined with layers of clean, fragrant honey, over which crawled thousands of stupefied bees.

Strip after strip was lifted from the tree until the dish-pan and pails were full. All through the woods was wafted the delicious odor of new-made honey.

“That ought to draw a bear if there’s one anywhere around,” declared the trapper, sniffing the air, as they gathered up their burdens and started for the cabin.

Ben had a lump behind his ear, and George had developed a similar one on the back of his neck. Coming to a spring-hole, they plastered the bites with mud.

“Must be close to fifty pounds altogether,” said Bill, when they reached the cabin.

“Yes, all of that, if not more,” agreed Ben, scooping out some very sticky bees which were leisurely crawling over the comb.

While they were going over the honey to rid it of bark and bees, the boys heard a new sound from the forest.

“Who-ah, to-who, to-who, to-who!”

It was a weird, dismal call, and they went to the door to listen. Ben laughingly told them it was only an owl.

Bill went outside, and, to the delight of the lads, gave a perfect imitation of the hoot. The bird answered and came nearer, and Bill replied again and again, and at last decoyed it into a tree directly over the cabin. There it called and hooted for a long time, until finally, uttering a blood-curdling screech, it flew away in the darkness and called faintly from the other side of the lake.

Later they heard the hound baying, and the trapper declared it was running a coon. The boys were anxious to start a search for it, but Ben said they had done enough for one day. He made Bill promise to remain and take them on a hunt the following night.

“Isn’t it great, though?” exclaimed Ed, when they were in their bunk.

“Each day gets better,” George replied.

The next day they spent in the woods with the trapper searching for coon signs. The first tracks were found in the mud about a spring-hole. Bill showed them to the boys, who were surprised at the resemblance to baby footprints. He said the little gray-and-black animals made trails very similar in form, though, of course, much smaller, to those of the bear, to whom they seemed distantly related.

About the border of the lake they found other tracks, and saw many empty mussel shells lying about close by. Bill explained that racoons were exceedingly fond of these freshwater clams, and described how they cracked the shells to get at the meat inside. He said, judging by the many signs and tracks about, they would have little trouble “jumping” a coon when they started with the hound that night.

It was barely twilight when the boys were eager to be off. Bill told them that the best coon hunting came long after dark, and declared there was no need of starting so early. The hound was fastened to the cabin by a long leash, to prevent him straying off before the hunt. Then for some time the impatient young hunters sat waiting.

At last it was time to go, and the little hunting party filed away into the black forest. Following along one behind the other, they came to the spring-hole where they had seen the tracks. Bill, who was leading with Moze, had trouble in holding the hound back. It sniffed excitedly over the moist ground, but seemed to find nothing especially interesting, and they moved on.

“Little too early,” said Bill.

“We’ll find one before long,” Ben prophesied, hopefully.

The boys moved slowly along behind the trapper, who carried the lantern, and Ben followed in the rear to prevent their straying from the trail. The great black woods had a peculiar charm about them at that time of night, and as the boys peered about beneath the massive trees they recalled the story of a panther which the guide had told them. They wondered if one of those savage animals was lurking somewhere near them in the darkness, and were thankful for two such body-guards as Bill and Ben.

Suddenly the hound uttered a long, dismal howl and jumped forward so quickly that it almost pulled Bill headlong to the ground.

“He’s found one!” cried Ben.

“Yep, there’s been one here, sure,” declared Bill, stooping and releasing Moze.

The hound instantly dashed away into the night, uttering a series of short, excited yelps.

The boys were for chasing after him, but were laughingly restrained and told to remain where they were until the coon was treed. The hunters stood clustered expectantly about the lantern, while every few moments the voice of Moze echoed through the woods and gave warning that he was hot on the trail.

Then farther away they heard his quick, snappy bark, and Bill said the coon had been treed. At a rapid pace he led the way down a steep ravine, across a rock-strewn gully, and up a rough hillside. Panting and excited, the boys raced along behind him. They seemed heedless of the sharp, stinging blows from branches which snapped in their faces, the scratching grasp of thorny bushes which tore their hands, or the strong, entangling grip of low, sprawling vines which wound about their feet.

At last they came out into more open country beneath a great grove of evergreens. The dog’s impatient yelps sounded from a short distance in advance of them. Shouting encouragement, Bill hastened on toward where they heard the hound. When they got there Moze was jumping about and barking excitedly at the foot of a giant, lightning-killed pine whose trunk extended high up into the blackness.

“It’s up there, all right,” said the trapper, holding aloft the lantern and peering upward into the night.

They were unable to see the coon, which was evidently in the very top of the tree and well shielded by the darkness. The two veteran hunters decided to build a fire. Soon there was a great roaring blaze, which threw a shaft of light far aloft into the mass of naked branches. On one of them, in near the trunk, crouched their quarry. The tree was too big to chop down, and after some discussion Bill volunteered to climb it.

Having cut a long, crotched pole, the trapper fastened it to his waist with a piece of buckskin, and then he twined his legs about the tree and began to “shinney” toward the top. Ben and the boys armed themselves with stout clubs and waited anxiously for something to drop.

When he was within striking distance, Bill loosened the pole from his waist and pushed the coon from the limb on which it crouched. It fell, but caught on a lower branch, which ran to a fork, and again settled down. Bill slid down to it, and this time gave it a prod that sent it sailing through space with outstretched legs. It fell heavily to the ground in the midst of the little group at the base of the tree.

No sooner had it struck than Moze was upon it. Then began a fierce battle between dog and coon. Snarling and coughing, they rolled over and over in their struggle, Moze on top one moment, and the coon, which was putting up a valiant fight, uppermost the next.

The battle was waged furiously, and the animals appeared to be about evenly matched. The hunters formed an interested circle about the combatants, until the latter, in their frenzy, rolled between Ed’s feet and brought him down in a heap on top of them. For a moment there was the wildest kind of excitement as Ed frantically endeavored to roll away from the snapping animals. He finally managed to scramble to his feet, and ran nimbly aside, as Ben struck and killed the coon with his club.

Moze came up for inspection under the lantern light. He wagged his tail in triumph, but he looked much the worse for his encounter. He was scratched and torn from the sharp teeth and claws of his late antagonist, but appeared not to mind his wounds. Bill examined him carefully, and said that the few scratches were nothing to what he often got on such expeditions. As the hound seemed willing and eager to continue the hunt, the hunters moved on.

They walked several miles through the black woods in the hope of finding another coon, but Moze was unable to strike a second trail. Bill led the way through two large swamps, where in many places they sank to their knees in water. Then he guided them up a mountain-side, where the ground was covered with fallen tree-trunks—the result of a forest fire and tempest the year previous. The boys found it hard work climbing over these obstructions in the dark, and George declared he felt like an ant clambering over a pile of tooth-picks. At last they came to the top of the ridge, which was crowned with a forest of hardwoods, mostly oaks and chestnuts. They sat down to rest and dry their brows, for, though the night was cool, the brisk walk and hard climb had made them perspire.

Moze had gone on ahead, and suddenly they heard him baying furiously a short distance away to the right. The boys jumped to their feet instantly, but Ben cautioned them to wait until the hound had treed its quarry. They listened to the yelps and howls, which now seemed to come from farther away. Finally Bill rose and said they would follow the dog.

“Sounds like he might have a bob-cat or a lynx,” said Bill, as they hastened along to where Moze evidently had something up a tree.

“If that’s the case, we’re in for fun,” laughed Ben.

The lads became much excited at the prospect of an encounter with either of the savage animals mentioned, and thought of the wild screech they had heard the first night in camp. Ben had told them it was made by a lynx. As they hurried along Ed determined to keep out of the way this time, for he had no desire to tumble into a mix-up with such a formidable antagonist.

“Will Moze tackle a lynx?” he asked, breathlessly.

“He’ll pitch into anything from a bear down,” Bill declared. “You’ll see fur fly in a few minutes, I guess,” he added, as the savage challenge of the hound sounded through the night.

As they drew near, Moze went racing away down the hillside, baying lustily. Whatever animal he was pursuing had evidently jumped from the tree when it heard the noisy approach of the hunters.

“That’s a bob-cat trick,” said Bill.

“Yep,” said Ben, as he cautioned the boys to be careful of their eyes while pushing through the mass of unyielding branches which swept stingingly across their faces.

Again Moze drove the unseen creature up a tree, but not before he had come close enough to make it spit and snarl wickedly. Bill now assured them that they had a bob-cat to deal with. He said there would be the fiercest kind of fight. They hurried on to where the dog was barking and growling at the base of a low, scrubby oak. The hair on his neck stood stiffly erect, and his whole manner was more defiant and threatening than when he had treed the coon. From time to time he left off barking and raised himself on his hind legs in an effort to leap into the tree.

Gazing into the tree-top but a few feet above their heads, the boys saw a pair of shining green eyes peering down into their own. They quickly withdrew from beneath the limb, and called Ben and the trapper, who had been staring into the twisted branches from the opposite side.

“Yes, that’s a bob-cat, all right enough, and a big one, too, I imagine,” cried Bill, excitedly. “We should have brought a gun. Might have known we’d run across one of these fellows before we quit,” he said.

There was a rustling of dried leaves, and before any one had time to move the bob-cat landed with a thump in the midst of them. Ed crashed into George in his frantic effort to get out of the way, and both of them fell in a heap. Ben made a vicious swing with his ax; but the bob-cat evaded him and went racing off with Moze in hot pursuit.

When the boys regained their feet, the trapper was some distance away with the lantern. Ben, who was crashing through some bushes to their left, called to them to follow the light. Not wishing to be lost in the inky woods, they hurried, pell-mell, after Bill and the sounds of fighting.

From the snarls and growls which they heard, the lads knew that Moze had once more brought the bob-cat to bay. Panting and excited, they at last bumped into the trapper, who was standing with the lantern held high above his head, pointing at some rocks which Ben was cautiously approaching, ax in hand.

There, among the rocks, the bob-cat faced them, driven to bay. With ears flattened, eyes glaring, and lips drawn back in an ugly snarl, it crouched before the dog. It kept up a constant low, rumbling growl, which was defiantly answered by Moze. The old hound knew too much to rush recklessly into close quarters, and contented himself with circling about the ugly cat and so holding its attention. The bob-cat was indeed, as Bill had judged, a large one. Neither Ed nor George had ever seen such a ferocious-looking wild animal before, and it seemed to grow in size and ugliness while they stared at it, squatting there in the glow of the lantern, its whole body quivering with rage.

It drew back as though to spring when the guide approached, and Bill called a warning. Ben cautiously retreated a few paces, and the bob-cat relaxed somewhat, growling so fiercely that the boys involuntarily moved several feet nearer Bill.

Moze rushed forward, but instantly jumped back when the watchful creature struck a savage blow at his head.

“Look out, old boy, you’ll get a clawing!” laughed Bill, warningly, to the enraged hound, which was jumping to and fro barely out of range of the sharp claws, bared and ready to repel his attack.

“I’ll stone him till he turns, and then you send Moze in, and I’ll take a chance with the ax,” Ben proposed.

“He’s big, and he’ll fight hard,” said Bill, dubiously.

“I know it; but it’s the only chance we have of getting him without a gun.” And Ben stooped and picked up several stones. “Now then, boys, look out for trouble!” he warned, preparing to hurl one of the stones.

“Hold on till I get a club,” urged Bill, searching about for a weapon. “Here, Ed, you hold the lantern, and, mind you, keep the light on him!”

Ben threw a stone, which struck the bob-cat full in the side. With an enraged snarl it turned to run, but Moze was upon it the same instant. He fastened his teeth in one of its rear legs. The cat whirled and struck before the dog could jump aside, and its long, sharp claws inflicted a nasty gash in the top of his head. With a howl of mingled rage and pain Moze bounded to one side, and Ben let go another rock, but in his eagerness he missed the mark entirely.

Then he shouted a warning, for the bob-cat drew back as the second missile sped past its head, and, gathering its powerful feet beneath it, sprang directly at Ed and the lantern. As the startled boy turned to run it struck him in the middle of his back and sent him pitching forward on his face.

Instantly Moze rushed in, and Bill ran forward yelling, club in hand. Then ensued some terrific fighting in the dark, for the lantern had been smashed against a rock when Ed fell. Snarls, growls, yells, and blows resounded from the blackness as Bill, Moze, and the bob-cat fought over the prostrate body of Ed, who prudently lay face downward, afraid to move.

Luckily, Moze closed with the bob-cat before it had a chance to inflict injury on the lad. And then, seeing the danger the boy was in, Bill rushed into the fray with his club, and the cat was too hard pressed to turn its attention to the boy underneath. But he was in a risky place, for the combatants rolled back and forth over his body, and several times he felt sharp scratches on his neck and shoulders as Moze and the bob-cat struck and snapped at each other. Then he heard Bill’s club descend with a loud whack, and at the same time the trapper called to him to roll out of the way, which he lost no time in doing.

Moze had been getting the worst of the fighting; but once Ed was out of the way, Ben went to the aid of Bill, and with club and ax they soon killed the bob-cat, but not before the trapper had been severely clawed on his legs and arms. Moze was bleeding from a dozen wounds, and Ben told George to gather sticks that they might build a fire and nurse the injured.

Bill’s wounds were painful, but not deep, and he made light of them when Ben offered to help him. Ed had by some miracle escaped with a slight gash in one shoulder and a few minor claw-marks across his back. The guide bound up his shoulder, and then turned to poor Moze. The old dog was lying down, quietly licking his injuries. There was little they could do for him at the time, so they all sat by the fire to rest before moving toward the cabin.

Ben stretched out the body of the bob-cat; it measured over four feet, and the guide claimed it would weigh between thirty and forty pounds. It bore the marks of Moze’s mauling, and Ed went over and petted the hound affectionately for having so gallantly gone to his rescue.

“That’s a powerful big bob-cat,” said Bill, gazing down at the mottled gray body stretched out at his feet.

“’Most as big as a lynx, and just about as ugly,” declared Ben.

They had a hard trip back to the cabin, with no lantern to help them, but finally arrived there tired and sore. Ben at once heated some water, and Bill and Ed carefully washed their wounds. Then they did the same for Moze, and he wagged his tail in appreciation. More than once the boys fairly hugged him, for the faithful old hound had gained a lasting place in their affections by his bravery.

When they were finally in bed, George said: “Well, Ed, you had your turn to-day, didn’t you?”

“Yes, and it was almost as exciting as your ride on the deer. I’m going to ask for the skin of that bob-cat as a souvenir.”

“I wonder what we’ll run into next!” mused George.

“Catamounts and bears, I guess. Good night, I’m tired.”