Autumn pa.s.sed. The wild geese drifted southward in search of open waterways, and the moon of snowshoes was ushered in. For days a fierce storm raged, the keen wind lashing the branches of the forest trees and piling the drifts deep. Few indeed of the forest folk ventured abroad, most of them keeping to their dens until the storm should pa.s.s. When the sun again appeared, it shone upon a world of pure, glistening white, where the frost particles in the air sparkled like diamond dust.

Hunger drove the creatures forth, and by evening the snow was interlaced with their innumerable trails. The bigger lynx emerged from his dark den high up under an overhanging ledge, stretched himself and yawned mightily, then set off in search of a meal. For a long time he was unsuccessful. The creatures were shy and frightened by their own shadows upon this white coverlet which made the night woods almost as light as day. The lynx was obliged to be content with a rabbit caught at the edge of a snow drift, though his fierce appet.i.te craved stronger food.

Weeks pa.s.sed and the plight of the forest creatures grew steadily worse.

Icy gales swept down from the far north, following each other in rapid succession and making it impossible for any forest creature to stir abroad, sometimes for days at a time. The lynxes grew steadily leaner and their temper more savage. Like gaunt shadows of doom they drifted down the snowy aisles of the forest, now and then coming upon a grouse, which had burrowed into a drift for the night, only to find itself imprisoned by the freezing of the crust above. Even wood mice were difficult to obtain, though their runways branched everywhere deep down under the snow, which to them was a blessing. The nights were cold and still, lit by the great fan of the Aurora Borealis which pulsed upward to the zenith, glowing with its ever-changing colors--delicate green fading into violet and blue, flaming redly or dying away in a pure white light.

About this time the female lynx met her fate in an encounter with a fat porcupine who dawdled across her trail. The sight of good eating so tantalizingly near caused her to lose all caution. With her long claws she endeavored to turn the porcupine over that she might reach his unprotected under parts. In her eagerness, however, she forgot the barbed tail which dealt her a smashing blow, full in the face. One of the quills mercifully penetrated the brain and at once put an end to the painful struggles. Thus the male lynx was left to walk the trails alone, but in spite of the odds against him, he succeeded in holding his own.

The beginning of March saw no break in the intense cold. In fact, March in the wilderness is the most bitter month of the winter. Food is reduced to a minimum and the survivors of cold and hunger are exceedingly wary.

One night when the moon, far off in a cloudless sky, sent pale fingers of mysterious light creeping down the dark forest lanes, the surviving lynx appeared in his endless search for food, his huge pads making no sound as he kept himself cunningly concealed among the shifting shadows.

The hush of death brooded over the frozen forest, a hush in which the scratching of a dry leaf across the icy snow crust could be plainly heard for some distance. Occasionally the silence was broken by a loud report from some great tree.

The lynx drifted on, seeking vainly for food to stay his fierce appet.i.te. Suddenly he crouched close to the ground, startled, as a weird, hollow cry rang out just above him. It was the voice of doom for many smaller creatures but not for the lynx. As the great owl drifted by on soundless wings, the animal snarled but went on his way.

At length he paused again to listen. Far away a mournful howl rose on the still air and died away, only to be taken up by another and another.

At the sound the hair bristled upon the back of the listener. It was the cry of the wolf pack.

Now the lynx hesitated, uncertain whether to ignore the sound or to make good his escape. Since game had become scarce the wolves had taken to hunting the lynxes. For a single wolf the big cat felt little fear, but he realized that he would be no match for them hunting in packs.

Accordingly, much against his will, he turned back toward the den, stopping occasionally to listen, the ta.s.sels of dark hairs upon his ears standing stiffly erect and his pale eyes gleaming fiercely.

It soon became apparent that the pack was coming rapidly closer and in another moment had caught the scent. On they came, silent and swift, until they sighted their quarry among the trees. Then they broke into full cry. The lynx, knowing that he could not hope to escape them upon the ground, hastily scrambled up a tree where, crouching upon a limb, he glared down at his enemies.

Maddened at the escape of their quarry, the wolves circled the tree with snapping jaws, leaping as far upward as possible, only to fall back among their fellows. Their eyes gleamed red, but the lynx, safe on his branch high above, felt only disdain. He knew that they could not reach him.

The moon sank out of sight, leaving the forest in darkness, but still the wolf pack kept watch beneath the tree, moving restlessly but always alert. In the east the darkness paled and the sky became gradually suffused with pink. The lynx thought that daylight would see the end of his imprisonment, but though a few of the pack slunk away, enough remained on guard to make a descent from the tree extremely hazardous.

Soon after sunrise, however, easier game was sighted and those beneath the tree at once joined the chase, leaving the lynx free to stretch his cramped muscles and descend from his perch. That morning he was fortunate in finding the half-devoured carca.s.s of a doe which a panther had killed and left unguarded, and he ate greedily of the life-giving food. His fur had grown ragged and his sides gaunt with hunger, but after this satisfying meal new life and courage seemed to flow into his veins.

For some reason the panther did not return to its kill and the flesh of the deer kept the lynx in food for several days. All too soon, however, it was gone, and starvation again stared him in the face. Then he remembered the settlements, with their many dangers, but also with their promise of food. So he drifted southward and found a new den not far from the edge of the wilderness.

Thus it was that, late one afternoon, as the Hermit and Pal were returning to the cabin after a tramp through the woods, the dog became suddenly uneasy and the man again experienced the unpleasant sensation of hostile eyes staring at him. Not caring to have darkness overtake him in the woods, unarmed as he was, he whistled to Pal and went steadily on, watchful but unafraid. The lynx, from the shadows of the trees, watched him hungrily, longing to attack the small, harmless-looking animal but afraid of the man.

Day after day the lucivee watched for a time when the dog might follow the trail alone, but the Hermit did not permit Pal to wander off unaccompanied, and he was careful to arm himself on his infrequent trips into the forest. Though he was often aware of the presence of the lynx, he caught only one glimpse of him, a dim gray shadow among the grayer shadow of the woods. The animal hunted wide. He would occasionally grow so bold as to approach the outlying farms under cover of darkness, and make a raid upon a sheep-pen. This was always sure to bring pursuit, and after the lynx had received a painful flesh wound he grew wary of the abode of man.

Thus the days pa.s.sed, sometimes marked by plenty, but more often by hunger, until at last the winter came to an end, as even the longest winter must do. When the wild geese returned to their northern breeding places and food grew more abundant, the lynx, too, turned his face to the vast solitudes, far from the dangers of the settlements. With him far away, Pal was once more allowed the freedom of the trails, while his master, about his work in the woods, was no longer aware of that grim, unseen haunter of his footsteps.

WHERE WINTER HOLDS NO TERRORS

In a small reed-girt pool near the source of a forest stream which emptied into the Little Vermilion not far from the Hermit's cabin, stood a rough dome of gra.s.s roots, lily stems, mud and sticks. Standing at a bend in the stream, it resembled a ma.s.s of driftwood deposited by the freshet, yet it was the snug home of a fat old muskrat.

The roof of the lodge sloped somewhat toward the south, thus permitting the sun's warmth to penetrate the one loose place in the ma.s.s, the muskrat's ventilating shaft. In a snug room about a foot down from the roof of the dome, and well above the water line, he had made his bed of leaves and gra.s.s, where he could sleep snugly even when the winter gales shrieked overhead and the snow drifted deep.

The muskrat, as is usual with his tribe, had two entrances to his lodge, one a tortuous pa.s.sage opening under water and leading inward about a foot, then slanting upward five or six feet, the other leading to the open air, its exit cleverly concealed by a tussock of coa.r.s.e gra.s.s. Here he lived a life of ease and also of adventure, feasting on sweet-flag root, rushes and lily stems, of which there was always an abundance close at hand, and taking his exercise in the water or in his many runways in the long gra.s.s bordering the stream. The muskrat had adopted the modern slogan of "Safety First" and had, in addition to his lodge, made a burrow in the bank not far away, a retreat in time of trouble.

One warm summer day the muskrat emerged from the lower entrance to his lodge. Swimming lazily across the little pool, he paused under the shade of a ma.s.s of overhanging roots where it was safe to thrust out his nose for a breath of air. Though the air of the wilderness was warm and oppressive, the water of the stream was pleasantly cooled by a number of springs. The sun shining down upon it served only to intensify the green of overhanging gra.s.s and leaves, so that the muskrat seemed to be basking in a dim green world. Gnats hovered in a thick swarm in the sunlight close above the calm surface, and a group of birches, leaning over to look at their reflection, trailed their tender green branches in the clear mirror. Occasional flecks of foam from the falls above drifted by, or a leaf fell softly, floating like a fairy boat on a sea of gla.s.s.

Lured by the peacefulness of the scene the muskrat ventured forth into the sunlight to comb his fur, about which he was extremely fastidious.

He had just begun his toilet when a shadow drifted between him and the sun. Without looking upward, he plunged back into the pool, carrying with him a number of tiny bubbles of air which gleamed like silver amid his thick fur. Under the shadow of the root he lay quiet for some time, having no means of knowing that the shadow had been but that of a summer cloud drifting by overhead.

As the muskrat lay quiet, something dropped with a light plash upon the surface of the pool and, looking up, he beheld the flutter of bright wings as a b.u.t.terfly struggled with the strange element into which it had so suddenly dropped. The next moment there was a swirl of water as a vigorous young trout rose to the surface, and the b.u.t.terfly disappeared.

The pool was now quiet and, as a muskrat's memory is short, he once more decided to take an airing. At a place where a little sandy beach sloped to the water he climbed out and, seating himself, began a leisurely toilet. With his claws he combed out his fur until it was dry and fluffy and shone with a silky l.u.s.ter where the warm sun touched it. Then he began on his face and ears, rubbing them with both paws in a comical manner. Suddenly, however, his toilet was interrupted in a way which all but put a period to the muskrat's story.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The hawk dropped like a thunderbolt and caught him in its talons.]

He had just finished washing his face when, without warning, there came a sweep of great wings just over his head. The muskrat dodged and turned to the pool, but he was too late. The hawk dropped like a thunderbolt, caught him in its talons and rose swiftly into the air far above the quiet pool. For a moment the big muskrat was stunned with the force and suddenness of the attack; very soon, however, his wits returned, and he squirmed sharply until the hawk had difficulty in holding his prize.

A thoughtful Providence, in fashioning the muskrat tribe, has clothed them in a skin which seems several times too large, a fact that is often the means of saving their lives. The claws of the hawk had caught only in the flabby, loose flesh, and with a sudden twist the big muskrat pulled himself loose from the cruel grasp just as they pa.s.sed over a woodland stream. Fortunately for the rat, his captor was flying low and before the hawk could again secure its prey the muskrat had fallen into the stream. He sank like lead to the bottom and hid under an overhanging bank. As for the hawk, with a scream of baffled rage it flew away, knowing it would be useless to wait for the quarry to reappear.

For a long time the muskrat lay trembling in the darkness, with only the tip of his nose above water. Then he swam warily to the edge of the shadow and looked about. The stream was one that he had, at infrequent intervals, visited before. As it held none of the attractions of the home pool, he had always returned to his original haunts, relieved when the journey by land was safely accomplished. Now he waited until sure that his enemy had gone; then he climbed warily from the water, crouching among the gra.s.s roots or under fallen logs at the least hint of danger, but traveling as straight as if guided by a compa.s.s to his own stream. There he slid happily into the water and entered his waiting home, glad to rest and recover from his fright.

One day, not long after his adventure with the hawk, the big muskrat sat in his favorite retreat under the birch roots, just below a spot where a cold spring bubbled from the sand of the stream bed. He kept under water as much as possible, only coming up to renew his supply of air. While he idly watched the placid surface above, a gaudy fly dropped lightly upon the water and lay still. As on that other day when the b.u.t.terfly had met its fate, a big trout rose at once to the lure.

The fly disappeared but, instead of swimming away, the trout began what seemed to the muskrat a series of exceedingly queer antics. He made a rush downstream near the surface, shaking his head from side to side, while the muskrat could see a long, thin line trailing behind him. Then the fish leaped several times into the air, the sunlight flashing upon the bright carmine spots on his olive-green sides. Next he tried sulking on the bottom of the pool, jiggling from side to side, only to rise gradually to the surface. A net dipped for a moment into the water and the trout vanished as if spirited away. The muskrat watched with bulging eyes but the trout did not again return to the pool.

After a time the muskrat bestirred himself and crossed the pool to a spot near his own front door. But instead of entering it, he rose toward the surface, having decided to take a brief journey in one of his many runways. A surprise was in store for the big rat, however, a surprise which drove all thoughts of a journey from his mind.

As he approached the surface, he looked up and found himself staring directly into a pair of pale, savage eyes set in a round face, surmounted by a pair of ta.s.seled ears. The lynx lay upon a half submerged log, its face close to the surface of the water, in order that the reflections might not interfere with its vision of the clear depths.

As the muskrat came near the surface, a great paw armed with long, keen claws was thrust into the water, but the lynx was a moment too late.

With a suddenness which caused him to turn a backward somersault, the big muskrat arrested his upward motion and dived for his subterranean doorway. He did not pause in his swift flight until the long pa.s.sage was traversed and he crouched, shaken and panting, in the darkest corner of his house. Nor did he venture forth again that day.

One day he had a narrow escape from a huge snapping turtle which entered the pool on a foraging expedition. At the time, the muskrat was dozing in his favorite retreat, all unconscious of the invader until he felt his right hind foot taken in a vise-like grip which made him squeak with pain. He twisted about until he could look at his ugly captor, at sight of whom his heart sank. Pull as he would, he could not loosen his foot from the cruel jaws. All would have been over with him had not the Hermit at that moment chanced upon the pool and, seeing his plight, come to the rescue. The muskrat entered his den with a bleeding foot but a thankful heart.

It must not be supposed, however, that the muskrat's life was one continual round of sudden dangers and narrow escapes. For weeks at a time no enemy visited the quiet pool, and he played about and fed, occasionally with other muskrats who had their homes in the same stream.

They are sociable folk, as a rule, and like to live in colonies. The big muskrat, however, kept much to himself, leading his own life, independent of the colony.

The drowsy summer days pa.s.sed and with a swirl of snowflakes the Frost King descended upon the world. The muskrat's playground was roofed over with ice, blue as steel, and the wilderness lay under a glistening white mantle. For the fat old muskrat, however, the winter held no terrors. He slept for long hours, curled up snug and warm in his soft, dry bed, while the wind howled and the snow drifted but a foot above his head.

Many of the wilderness creatures began to feel the pinch of hunger but not the big rat. Just outside the subterranean entrance to his abode grew plenty of sweet-flag and succulent lily stems and roots, his for the taking.

The whole pool was his playground, the season which brought distress to so many creatures proving a blessing to him. The snapping turtle had burrowed into the ground for the winter; the hawk had vanished; and minks, those deadly enemies of the dwellers of the pool, were seldom seen. The muskrat had nothing to fear. The water under the thick ice was comfortably warm and, as it fell below its summer level, it left an air s.p.a.ce of several inches along the bank. There the muskrat could travel long distances or seat himself comfortably and look out upon the wintry world from which he was so well protected.

It was indeed a changed world upon which he looked one wintry morning.

The depths of the pool were as calm as a summer day, but above the ice the bare branches of the birch trees were lashed by a cutting wind straight from the ice fields of the north. Snow covered the forest floor. Now and then a rabbit, looking like an animated s...o...b..ll in its white winter coat, drifted past the muskrat's hiding-place, but most of the wilderness folk had denned up, waiting for the storm to pa.s.s.

The muskrat now bestirred himself and began a leisurely journey downstream, stopping when an unusually succulent root showed itself above the oozy bed. He had traveled far, lured by tempting food always just ahead. Suddenly his heart seemed to stand still and he gazed down stream with bulging eyes. Coming swiftly toward him, swimming with a sinuous ease which struck terror to the muskrat's heart, was a long, brown animal whose keen eyes seemed to bore into every nook and corner of the stream. The one enemy had arrived.

The muskrat knew that he could never hope to reach his home ahead of the bloodthirsty mink. Glancing wildly about, he discovered a small haven under the bank, a doubtful hiding place, but his one chance of escape.

Squeezing his big body into the cavity as best he could, he waited with wildly beating heart.

It was indeed fortunate for him that the mink was intent upon other game, or his hiding-place would have been quickly detected. The mink was in pursuit of a big trout and had no eyes for other inhabitants of the stream. He forged swiftly ahead in the wake of the fleeing trout and soon pa.s.sed from sight, though the muskrat remained for some time in his retreat, afraid to venture forth. As the animal did not return, he at last slid out and turned upstream, keeping near the sh.o.r.e, ready to dart into hiding at the least sign of danger. He reached home without mishap, and drew a breath of relief as he settled for a nap on his warm dry bed.

About a week later the big muskrat was again feeding some distance down stream. His fright was forgotten and he was happy as could be, digging in the oozy stream bed for flag roots, raising his head occasionally, his face and whiskers covered with soft mud through which his eyes shone comically as he contentedly chewed a juicy root. Having eaten his fill he climbed out into an air s.p.a.ce where the water had receded and the ice made a thick protection over his head, and proceeded to make his toilet.