CHAPTER XI
THE RETURN TO THE WRECK
Martin was in fine spirits when Larry finally crawled out of his sleeping bag and set about getting breakfast next morning. The injured leg was stiff and useless, to be sure, but the acute pain had subsided and did not bother the old man except when he attempted to move. “By to-morrow,” he assured the boy, “I’ll be ready to hit the trail again.”
Larry, with a perplexed look, turned from his work of frying moose meat to see if Martin was in earnest.
“I guess your tobacco has gone to your head, Martin, if you expect to be able to use that leg much by to-morrow,” he said indulgently.
“I don’t expect to be able to use it much by to-morrow,” Martin replied simply, “but we’ll be moving all the same.”
Larry set the frying pan down beside the fire, and came in and stood before the old man with his arms akimbo, scanning the old fellow’s immobile face. For a moment or two they faced each other, neither of them speaking and both looking very serious. Larry was puzzled but determined.
“Now see here, Martin,” he began, “you don’t really suppose that you are going to be able to travel to-morrow, do you?”
“I certainly do,” the old man replied without relaxing a muscle; “and what’s more to the point, I’m going to!”
“But Martin,” Larry protested, “how do you expect that your leg which is so sore you can’t even move it to-day, will be so you can walk on it to-morrow?”
“I don’t,” Martin replied.
“Then how do you suppose you are going to stumble on through these woods mile after mile,” Larry persisted.
“Who said anything about stumbling through these woods, or any other woods?” the old hunter asked, with a twinkle in his eye. “You shouldn’t jump to conclusions, Larry.” And he chuckled at the boy’s discomfiture.
Larry gave a defiant toss of his head and returned to his frying pan. “Kim and Jack and I are going to eat our breakfast now,” he announced with a grin. “Perhaps you can beg some breakfast too when you are ready to tell me what you are driving at.”
“All right,” Martin capitulated; “I’m too hungry to be stubborn. Bring on the breakfast and we’ll talk while we eat. I’ve been thinking this thing all out during the night, and here it is:
“We’re going to travel to-morrow, but I intend to ride. I am going to have you pack me on the sled with a few days’ stock of food, and get Kim and Jack to haul me. You can come along as escort, if you care to. In fact if you don’t care to I shan’t go, and we’ll spend the winter here and starve, instead of going back to the yacht to get fat.”
At this announcement Larry gave a shout that brought the dogs to their feet in surprise. The idea of returning to their comfortable quarters on the coast instead of struggling on through the wilderness seemed a vision of perfect happiness to the boy.
Martin outlined his plan completely while they ate their breakfast. They would take the two sleeping bags, the tent, and a supply of food, harness the two dogs to one of the sleds and “hit the back trail for ‘home,’” as he called the wreck. He would sit on the toboggan in one of the sleeping bags and direct the dogs while Larry would trudge behind helping to steady the sled and prevent it overturning in the rough places. In this way they could make the return trip in four days easily unless a storm came up. If a storm came they would simply “hole up” and wait until it blew over. When the wounded leg had healed, as it would very shortly in their comfortable camp, they would make another start for civilization.
It took Larry the greater part of the day to make the necessary preparations for this trip. Under Martin’s direction he rigged one of the toboggans with handles at the back, so arranged that he could use them for steadying the sled or helping the dogs in the hard places as he walked behind. He also made a back-piece of twisted branches for Martin to lean against as he sat on the sled, strengthening this rough framework with cord and strips of canvas. When finished Martin declared that it looked like a movable brush heap; but he admitted that it was strong and serviceable, and made a comfortable support for his back.
The second toboggan and the extra provisions were suspended from limbs high above the ground where they would be out of the reach of animal prowlers, and available for future use should they ever need them.
They broke camp the next day before dawn and headed the dogs out into the open expanse of glistening crust. There was no need to direct their course, nor stimulate them to top speed. A trained sledge dog remembers directions better than a man, and is as keen for the return trip toward home as his human companions. Indeed Jack and Kim showed such enthusiasm and found that their load ran so easily on the hard crust that Larry had difficulty in keeping up with them at times except by clinging to the handles. Crossing the plain, which consumed so much time on the outward trip, required only three hours for the return; and even in the woods that lay beyond their progress was almost twice as fast as before.
Despite Larry’s efforts, however, the sled received severe bumps at times, that made Martin groan with pain. But the old hunter would not allow any stops or slackening of speed for so trivial a matter as his personal discomfort. His dominant idea was to get back “home” as quickly as possible, and his attitude spurred Larry on to exert himself to the limit of endurance. By sundown they had covered a quarter of the distance to the coast; and in the afternoon of the fourth day they came tearing into the home camp, the dogs barking frantically and Martin and Larry shouting their delight.
Here they found everything practically as they had left it, so that they had only to open the tent flaps, light a fire in front, and sit down to rest and enjoy themselves.
But it was no part of Martin’s plan to let Larry sit idle during the long weeks that lay ahead of them, or to remain inactive himself one hour longer than his injured leg compelled him to. He knew that idleness and lack of diversions were bad things for the boy, who would very soon feel the strain of their solitary surroundings if not kept so fully occupied that the time would pass quickly. He could offer few diversions, but he had planned plenty of active work.
His first move next day, therefore, was to have Larry haul him to a point where he could inspect the wreck. He found it frozen in where they had left it, and wedged into a huge mass of ice that would hold it fast until the warm spring weather. So he transferred their living quarters temporarily to the after cabin, which Larry made snug with a little tinkering. Here, warmed by the galley stove, he could give his wound more effective treatment than in the open tent. Meanwhile he set Larry to work building a hut made from the wood of the forward cabin.
The task of tearing this cabin to pieces was even greater than that of actually putting it together again, but Larry set about it with saw, axe, and crow-bar. At first he worked alone; but after a few days Martin was able to crawl up on deck and superintend things from his seat in a sleeping bag, while the dogs acted as interested spectators. The days were very short now in this far northern latitude, and every hour of daylight was devoted to the wrecking work, leaving the “housekeeping” work to be done by lamplight. In this way the boy was kept so completely occupied, doing and accomplishing, that there was little time left to dwell upon the loneliness of their situation. So that, on the whole, the time passed quickly and pleasantly. This was what Martin had hoped to accomplish.
By the time the house-building material was secured, the old hunter could hobble about on extemporized crutches and give directions about building the hut, and sometimes assist Larry in steadying the boards that held the frame in place. And when their new home had reached a stage that called for finishing touches he was able to handle hammer and saw in performing some of the lighter work.
The hut was a curious little creation, with round port holes for windows and a ship’s cabin door, which gave it the appearance of having been cast up from the sea. It was made of the tight fitting boards, and rendered doubly wind proof by two thicknesses of canvas stretched over every part of it and nailed securely. Inside it was made attractive with all manner of ornaments taken from the yacht. There were two comfortable bunks arranged cabin-fashion one above the other at one end, a table and chairs, a case of books, and the little stove from the galley that kept the room warm even in the coldest weather. With its complete equipment, even to spring cots and mattresses, Martin declared it the finest winter home ever owned by shipwrecked hunters.
By Christmas day it was completed even to the smallest detail, and on that day they moved in and formally took possession, deserting the yacht forever. This day was made one of special merriment and rejoicing, for Martin was able to dispense with his cane or crutches for the first time, and use his leg in a natural manner without assistance. It was still weak, but strengthening so rapidly that it promised soon to be completely restored to power. So, to celebrate this combination of happy events, they brought all manner of delicacies from the pile of stores, and devoted the first part of the day to preparing for a grand feast.
In the afternoon they harnessed the dogs tandem to the toboggan, Martin took his place in the “movable brush heap,” and all went for a “joy ride” of several miles through the woods in a great circle that brought them back to the cabin about sundown. In several places on this journey they crossed caribou tracks, the sight of which made Martin’s eyes sparkle, and he predicted great hunting trips before the winter was much older.
In the evening they had their grand dinner which the dogs attended, all hands doing full justice to every course. After the feast Martin and Larry played cards until far past their usual bedtime. Taken all in all Christmas day proved a very cheerful one in the great wilderness.
The old man had cherished the hope that his leg would heal and gain strength so rapidly that they could make another attempt to reach the settlements before the winter was over. For he knew that if they did not do so they must wait until the unsettled weather of spring was over, and the ground dry enough for reasonably easy traveling. At that season they would encounter the terrible wood flies and insects, far more to be dreaded in certain regions than cold and snow. But it would be madness to attempt to make the winter journey until his strength had returned fully, and he soon realized that this would not be until well on toward spring. Very soon he was able to take fairly long snow-shoe tramps, assisted by the dogs and the toboggan, but hauling a heavy sled was quite out of the question. So he finally resigned himself to spending the winter at the cabin.
Larry had shown such aptitude in learning the many secrets of woodcraft that he determined to make a “land pilot,” as he called it facetiously, of him during their exile. As the boy had become proficient in the use of the rifle, Martin devoted part of the time to instructions in the art of trapping. They were in the land of the silver fox,—the most highly prized skin of all the fur-bearers—and so they concentrated their efforts to catch some of these wary animals. Meanwhile they made constantly lengthening hunting excursions after caribou, Larry occupying the position of chief hunter with the old man playing assistant. But on these hunting trips the little gun that Larry had carried at first was left hanging on its peg in the hut. In its place Larry now carried a repeater similar to Martin’s—a heavy weapon, that gave the boy many an arm ache.
Game was not very plentiful, however, and it required constant efforts to keep their larder supplied with fresh meat. But this scarcity of game gave the old hunter more opportunities for teaching the boy all manner of woodland tricks to secure it. Meanwhile he imparted to his pupil the most important and difficult feature of woodcraft—the art of “being at home” in the woods—to know directions instinctively, to observe and interpret every sign, and to take care of himself under all conditions.
Several times, when the injured leg was stronger and his pupil more advanced, Martin made practical tests of the boy’s progress. He would select a day when snow was falling, harness the dogs to the toboggan loaded with tent, sleeping-bags, and provisions, and make a zigzag journey into the heart of the woods. Here they would pitch camp and wait until the storm ceased. By that time their trail would be completely obliterated. Then, without any guiding suggestions, he had Larry take the lead and pilot them back to the cabin.
At first the boy would become confused, and be obliged to call upon the old hunter to straighten him out; and sometimes Martin allowed him to become completely at fault before he would aid him. But little by little Larry learned to observe and remember instinctively, until presently Martin found it impossible to confuse him even on long trips.
He learned how to interpret the signs of game, also, how to approach it successfully, and where to expect to find the wood denizens under the ever varying conditions. And when they were successful with gun or traps, Martin taught him how to skin and dress the game, and to care for the pelts.
“We’ll have to leave all these good furs behind us, I know,” the old man would say; “but we won’t waste them; and perhaps some other fellow will come along some day and find them. There’s just one pelt that we won’t leave, if we get it. That’s the silver fox.”
But this silver fox is a wily fellow. He seems to realize the value of his coat; or at least he knows that it is very valuable to himself, and uses his cunning to retain it. Week after week Martin used his knowledge and Larry’s increasing skill to trap one of these fine fellows, only to be disappointed on each occasion. They would find where Reynard had hovered about their trap, sometimes actually stepping over it to steal the bait, knowing in some occult manner just where the fatal jaws were concealed. It was in vain that Martin coated the trap with wax to disguise the scent, covering his hands and feet with the skins of the wild animals in setting or approaching the trap. Reynard refused to be deceived.
But perhaps success made him careless, although it was probably the fault of the thin covering of wet snow that fell one day late in the spring. For at last, after Larry had almost given up hope of getting even a single silver fox skin, the inevitable happened. Poor Reynard walked deliberately into a trap that had been set rather carelessly to catch a marten.
When Larry discovered this long sought prize held securely by one foot in the jaws of the trap, he gave a shout of delight at his unexpected success. The little animal had evidently been caught several hours before, and from the appearance of the ground about the trap had struggled fiercely to free itself. But now it seemed resigned to its fate, and stood crouching, watching Larry’s approach without making any further effort to escape. Even when the boy raised a heavy stick to despatch the captive, the little animal made no attempt to evade the blow, acting more like a dog resigned to take punishment from its master than a denizen of the wilderness accustomed to battle for its existence. But its wide, intelligent eyes, seemed to beg mutely for mercy.
The actions of the little animal completely unnerved the boy: he could not strike the crouching figure. If the fox had struggled fiercely, or attempted to fight for its life as a mink or marten always did, Larry could have despatched it at once; but that submissive attitude completely disarmed him. He could not resist the mute appeal in those eyes.
He lowered the club and turned away, ashamed of his weakness. But when he turned again, determined to overcome his scruples, the eyes met his with their mute plea, and again he lowered the club.
What would Martin think of such girlishness? he asked himself. Would Martin, or any good hunter, hesitate to snatch the prize that he had been struggling for all winter? He was sure they would not, and he despised himself for his weak-heartedness.
The longer he hesitated the surer he felt that he could not strike. Then the thought obtruded itself: Who would ever know if he did not strike? Who would there be to judge him but his own conscience if he were to set the little animal free instead of killing it? The moment these thoughts passed through his mind he knew that the fox had won its freedom. He should have struck at once: now it was too late.
But freeing the captive foot from the jaws of the trap without encountering the animal’s sharp, white teeth was no easy task; for he could not expect the fox to interpret his humane action correctly, and stand mutely while he forced down the trap spring. So it was not until after several fruitless attempts that he succeeded in placing a heavy limb across the spring, and by bending it down, allowed the jaws to fall open and release the foot.
During this manipulation the fox made no attempt to struggle, simply crouching down and watching the boy with its haunting eyes. And even when the jaws of the trap relaxed it did not bound away as Larry had expected, but slipped out of sight stealthily and with no apparent haste, not yet fully assured of its unexpected good fortune.
The boy watched the animal disappear with mingled emotions of shame and satisfaction. But when it was out of sight he drew a long breath, and went back to camp in a sober mood.
That night at supper Martin was unusually talkative. In about a week, he said, they should start for home if the fine weather continued, and the thought of it put him in a happy frame of mind. But Larry ate his supper in silence, trying to excuse himself for his deception, and his “chicken-heartedness” in freeing the fox.
Martin, who was watching him out of the corners of his eyes, suddenly surprised him by stopping in the middle of a story to ask:
“Larry, what happened out in the woods to-day that you are so ashamed of?”
The boy replied evasively at first, but the old hunter shook his head incredulously.
“See here, Martin,” Larry said at last, “what would you do if you happened to come along to a marten trap and found a silver fox there—not a dead fox, you know, and not one that snarled and snapped and tried to bite you. But a fox that had fought to get loose until he couldn’t fight any more, but just stood there and looked you straight in the eye even when you raised a club to kill him, and seemed to say to you:
“‘That’s right, take your club and kill me, I can’t get out of your way now. I’m only a poor little fox, anyway, while you are a big, brave boy, with guns and dogs and traps, and you needn’t even come near enough so that I can bite you. You have been trying to kill me all winter, just because some woman will give you a thousand dollars for the fur I wear to keep warm in, and now you’ve got your chance to do it.’—What would you do, Martin, if a fox looked at you and talked to you with his eyes like that?”
“What would I do, Larry?” the old man repeated, looking at the roof and puffing slowly at his pipe. “Why, I’d say, ‘Martin, here’s your chance to make a thousand dollars mighty easy. I’ll just hit him a rap on the head, and take him home and skin him.’ That’s what I’d say, Larry. But what I’d do when I saw the little fellow’s big brown eyes asking me to let him go home to his family—what I’d do, probably, would be to look all around to make sure that no one was looking to see what a coward I am in my heart, and then I’d spring the trap and turn the little rascal loose.”
With a bound Larry was out of his chair.
“That’s just what I did this afternoon, Martin,” he shouted, dancing joyfully about the room to relieve his pent-up feelings.
“And so you sat here all the evening calling yourself a coward,” said Martin, when Larry had subsided, “just because you couldn’t bear to kill a fox in a trap. How about killing wolves, Larry, and moose that are trying to kill you? Cowards don’t act that way, boy. And the bravest men usually have the softest spots in their hearts.”