CHAPTER XXVII
A CAVE AND A BEAR
Two days later, the boys, on a hunting expedition, in company with John Yardsley, stood on a barren ridge and saw before them a succession of rolling, snow-clad hills. Lake Wolverine had been left far behind, and the region was wild and desolate.
"A stormy time of it ye must hev had t'other night, cap'n," remarked the trapper, reflectively. "Sorry now I spoke ag'in them fellers so quick," he went on. "Suppose, if it hadn't been fur Musgrove actin' the way he did, mebbe nothin' would hev happened, but, arter all, I really done it—I'm sorry 'nough."
"I never saw such a sensitive chap as Piper," said Bob. "He reminds me of a firecracker."
"D'ye think those young scamps damaged their cabin much?"
"We didn't think it best to stay and find out," laughed Bob; "but I'll bet one side was nearly caved in."
"An' what did Piper an' his crowd do ter Musgrove's hut?"
"Not much—Billy and Tim fixed it up pretty quickly."
On reaching the base of the hill the march was continued along a timbered valley. Here and there, shafts of sunlight, finding their way between the trees, made the snow gleam with dazzling whiteness, while the frostwork covering underbrush and boughs sparkled brightly.
Snowbirds flitted about, and, as if rejoicing in the weather, the redbirds uttered their cheerful notes, and occasionally darted like a flash of flame against the darker background. Chattering squirrels leaped lightly from branch to branch, and rabbits, disturbed by the intrusion, quickly disappeared in the friendly shelter of tangled thickets.
"Hey! Where are you bound for, Hacky?" asked Nat, as the slim boy ambled slowly ahead.
"Just going to look around a bit. Say, Somers, want to come along?—good!"
"Don't stay long, cap'n," interposed Yardsley; "an' by the time yer git back, we'll have a good blaze a-goin'."
"Let's go around the point," suggested Hackett, with a move of his hand, indicating a part of the hill which jutted out for a considerable distance.
Keeping a careful watch for game, the hunters glided ahead with long, swinging strides, soon passing and skirting around the point. The rocks rose rather abruptly for a short distance, then sloped upward in a gentle curve.
Bob, who was several yards distant from his companion, suddenly stopped and gazed earnestly toward the rocks. Hackett, puzzled at his action, followed suit, without seeing anything more than a mass of underbrush.
"There's a cave over there," declared Bob.
"I don't see anything."
"You will from here."
"Yes, it's a cave," said Hackett, a moment later, with great interest, "and we ought to take a look inside."
Spreading the bushes apart, Hackett boldly pushed inside.
"Talk about blackness," came a muffled voice, as the twigs rustled back in place. "Whew! a lump of pitch would make a light in here."
"Better strike a match."
A few moments passed, then Hackett followed his companion's advice, and a feeble light flickered against the blackness.
"How big is it?" began Bob, with his face close to the opening. "I—"
But his further words were stopped by a loud yell. It came with such abruptness, and expressed so much fright, that Bob Somers jumped quickly backward, with an exclamation.
Before he had time to frame a question, Hackett suddenly reappeared, without his rifle. His eyes were wild and staring, and, almost hurling himself through the opening, he sprawled in the snow.
"What—what's the matter?" cried Bob, in alarm.
The slim boy instantly picked himself up, and, with a terror-stricken glance over his shoulder, yelled, hoarsely, "Mind your eye, Somers! Lose yourself! It's big as a house, and comin' right out!"
Blending in with his words came a deep, ominous growl. Then another, rising in a sort of crescendo, while a pair of eyes suddenly flashed against the blackness. Then a huge black bear, evidently furious at having his domain invaded, lumbered forth, while the two boys, with rapidly beating hearts, retreated.
Out of the corner of his eye, Bob saw Hackett's long legs fairly flying over the ground. But bruin was not particular as to whom he should charge. Lunging forward, the animal, with a hoarse growl, made directly for him.
Though his nerves tingled with excitement, Bob Somers quickly recovered his wits. As the bear rose on its hind legs, he fired point-blank.
His bullet only rendered the beast still more furious. Dropping upon all fours, and accompanying the act by another angry snarl, he charged again, with such suddenness and speed, that Bob Somers had scarcely time to dodge aside. Before he could make another move, the ponderous beast again rose.
For an instant it seemed as if nothing could save him. But Bob Somers, despite the unsteady feeling which attacked his legs at this critical moment, mastered himself, and fired again.
Almost simultaneously with the sharp report of the rifle, bruin crashed heavily to the ground and lay in a heap. His head sank low, and all the dignity of his towering strength was gone.
For an instant Bob Somers, scarcely realizing that the peril was over, stood gazing at the animal, half expecting to see it arise and renew the attack. Then, moving cautiously forward, he touched the motionless form with the muzzle of his rifle, and his face flushed with triumph.
"Hello—hello!" came a hail from the distance. It was Sam Randall's voice, and looking up, they saw him waving his hand.
"Come on over!" yelled Bob, anxious to show his prize.
Sam, perceiving that something unusual had occurred, soon joined them.
He opened his eyes wide with astonishment when he saw the great, dark form stretched out in the snow.
"Who shot him?" he exclaimed, excitedly. "You, Bob? Well, I was never more surprised in my life!"
"And won't I have a dandy souvenir of the trip, Sam!" exclaimed Bob, gleefully. "Just look at that slick coat! I'll get Yardsley to skin him—but come on—I want to see Chubby open his eyes."
"What's the matter, cap'n?" exclaimed Yardsley, as the three appeared. "You look kinder joyous!"
"Had a little adventure over there, and shot a bear," said Bob, with sparkling eyes.
A variety of exclamations greeted his words. The speaker, with great satisfaction, then told his story.
"Jest listen ter him," exclaimed Yardsley, delighted. "Cap'n, I'm proud of yer. A born hunter—an' never lost yer nerve, I'll be bound."
Lunch was soon over, and the group of hunters hurried to the scene of the encounter.
"H'm—a regular monster," cried Tom Clifton with wide-open eyes, as they approached. "Just look at those paws! One crack and it would have been all over, eh?"
"That it would," agreed Yardsley.
"But how about the bear's skin?" asked Bob, eagerly. "I'd give anything to take it home with me."
"Make yer mind easy on that score, cap'n. I'll tend ter the hull thing fur yer to-morrer. An' a bit of bear meat won't go bad, either. We'll jest drag him back where he come from, block up the hole, an' yours truly will fix the rest."
In a short time, the party came in sight of a lake. The opposite shore, fringed with a dark line of evergreens, became almost lost in a veil of bluish haze which enveloped the distance, while against the sky rose a line of low snow-clad hills.
"That there we call Goose Lake," announced Yardsley, "an' it's a good name, too, fur durin' the fall yer never seen so many of them birds in yer life as comes 'round."
"Many here now?" asked Hackett, eagerly.
The trapper shook his head. "Yer kin see 'em, but they ain't plentiful."
The lake was soon crossed, and on reaching the opposite shore they found themselves in a pine forest, dark, sombre and silent. In about twenty minutes the trapper held out his hand as a signal to halt.
"We're right by the shore," he whispered, "an' the geese is somewhere near."
Silently, the group spread out, each one heading for the lake, which could be seen between the trees.
To the eager and expectant hunters, it seemed an age before they reached the edge of the woods. Again Yardsley held up his hand.
Upon a gravelly bank which a combination of circumstances had kept partially free from snow was a flock of geese.
As it was still too far off to make it worth while to risk a shot, the hunters, scarcely breathing, crept slowly on.
Finally Yardsley paused. He looked at the boys, nodded, and raised his gun, the others instantly following suit. A roar, as the reports blended in one tremendous volume of sound, fairly deafened them all; the separated wreaths of smoke joined into a bluish cloud, while the eager hunters dashed quickly forward.
Swiftly flying against the clear blue sky, could be seen all of the flock that had escaped the massacre, and there, on the ground, lay many birds—ten in all.
"This here is Goose Lake, an' them is geese," remarked Yardsley, dryly.
A loud cheer followed his words.
"Simply great, isn't it?" cried Nat, enthusiastically.
"And all big fellows, too," commented Bob Somers, gleefully. "We'll have a feast fit for a king."
It was unanimously decided to return at once to camp.
It was a long, toilsome tramp, and the sun hung low on the horizon when Yardsley's log cabin at length came in view.
"I am so glad," sighed Dave Brandon, wearily. "I can scarcely move."
"What is that stuck on the door?" asked Bob Somers, as his eye caught sight of a white patch showing out clearly against the logs.
"It looks like a sheet of paper," asserted Nat Wingate.
"Powerful strange," commented Yardsley. "Some chap must hev left his visitin' card—an' it's tacked on, too."
In a moment, the trapper tore the paper loose.
As he turned it over, and glanced at a message written on the reverse side, he gave an exclamation of astonishment.