After two hours on the trail, Skipper Zeb announced that they would "boil the kettle," and have a "snack" to eat. Already the boys were ravenously hungry, and Skipper Zeb chuckled merrily as he observed their keen enjoyment as they ate.

"Settin' up traps makes for hunger," said he. "Fill up now."

"I was just hollow!" confessed Charley.

"And I was hungrier'n a starved wolf!" added Toby.

Their course now left the river valley, and presently came upon a wide frozen marsh, or "mesh" as Skipper Zeb called it.

"'Tis here on the meshes we finds the best fox footin'," he explained to Charley.

It was not long until he found tracks that he said were fox tracks, and in various places on the marsh set three traps, which were considerably larger than those set for marten or mink, and had two springs instead of one, and he used much greater care in setting them than in setting those for marten and mink. With his sheathknife he cut out a square of snow, and excavated in the snow a place large enough to accommodate the trap.

Over the trap a thin crust of snow was placed, and so carefully fitted that its location was hardly discernible. In like manner the chain, which was attached to the root of a scrubby spruce tree, was also concealed. From a carefully wrapped package on his flatsled Skipper Zeb produced some ill-smelling meat, and this he scattered upon the snow over and around the trap.

"They likes meat that smells bad," he explained, "and I'm thinkin' that smells bad enough for un."

Evening was falling when suddenly through the forest there glinted the waters of a lake, and here on its sh.o.r.es Skipper Zeb told them they were to camp for the night. A home-made cotton tent, small but amply large enough for the three, was quickly pitched and a tent stove set up. Then while Toby and Charley gathered boughs and laid the bed, Skipper Zeb cut a supply of wood for the night, and before the boys had finished the bed he was frying in the pan a delicious supper of partridges, which he and Toby had shot during the afternoon.

Charley was sure he had never been so tired in his life. It had been a long day of steady walking, save for the brief stops when Skipper Zeb halted to set a trap, and the snow and turns at hauling the flatsled had made it the harder. He lay back upon his sleeping bag chatting with Toby and watching Skipper Zeb prepare supper. How cozy and luxurious the tent was! The pleasant fragrance of spruce and balsam would have put him to sleep at once, had it not been for the pleasanter fragrance of the frying partridges and a hunger that increased with every minute.

When the meal was eaten Charley's eyes were so heavy that it was little short of torture to keep them open, and he slipped into his sleeping bag, and in an instant had fallen into dreamless, restful sleep.

How long he had been sleeping he did not know, when suddenly he found himself awake and alert. Something had aroused him, and he sat up and listened. For a time he heard nothing, save the heavy breathing of Skipper Zeb and Toby, and he was about to lie down again when there came the sound of footsteps in the slightly crusted snow outside. Some animal was prowling cautiously about the tent sniffing at its side. The moon was shining, and suddenly he saw the shadowy outline, against the canvas, of a great beast that he knew to be a timber wolf.

He was about to reach over to Skipper Zeb to wake him, when all at once the stillness was broken by a terrifying, heartrending howl, rising and falling in mournful cadence, and echoing through the forest behind them.

The howling creature was separated from Charley only by the thickness of the canvas, and Charley's blood ran cold.

XI

THE WORST FIX OF ALL

Skipper Zeb and Toby sat up hurriedly, and without an instant's hesitation Skipper Zeb slipped on his moccasins, reached for his rifle and left the tent. A moment later there came the report of his rifle.

The boys awaited eagerly his return, and when presently he reentered the tent it was to report:

"'Twere an old she wolf, but I misses she. 'Twere just one alone. I'm thinkin' we may be findin' deer signs up the path. Wolves follow the deer."

"Will the wolf come back? And is it dangerous?" asked Charley, the terrifying echo of its howl still in his ears.

"We'll never see _she_ again," said Skipper Zeb, settling in his sleeping bag to resume his interrupted rest. "That un won't be dangerous, whatever. If she keeps goin' as smart as she started she'll be over the height o' land by to-morrow night this time," and he chuckled with the recollection of the frightened wolf's speed.

Farther and farther into the wilderness they went. It seemed to Charley that they had left the whole world behind them, and that the forest and barrens through which they trod had swallowed them up, and he wondered if they would ever be able to find their way back to Black River tilt and the boat. Had he been left alone he would not have known in which direction to turn.

The silence was total. There was never a sound to break it at night, and during the day none save the harsh voice of the Labrador jay, which came begging for food whenever they boiled the kettle, and was so fearless it would almost take crumbs from the hand; or the incessant dee-dee-dee of the chickadee, a much pleasanter companion of the trail, Charley thought, than the jay. Once, in the evening, they heard the honk of a flock of wild geese pa.s.sing south.

"They're a bit late," observed Skipper Zeb. "They'll be bidin' in a pond a step to the west'ard from here, and feedin' in the marnin'. I gets geese there sometimes, and I'm thinkin' I'll take a look at break o' day and see if I can knock one or two of un over."

Accordingly, the following morning after they had eaten breakfast and just as dawn was breaking, he left the boys, and a half hour later returned with three fat geese.

"We'll cache un here," said he, "and when we comes back take un with us, and you lads can take un home."

On Wednesday night they had the shelter of a tilt, which Skipper Zeb called "Long Lake tilt," and on Friday evening they reached "Big Lake tilt" and the end of the trail.

"Here we stops till Monday," Skipper Zeb announced. "'Twill give you lads a chance to rest up."

"That's great! It's the longest and hardest hike I ever had," said Charley. "I'll tell Dad about it when I get home, and he'll think I could have stood the Newfoundland hike he wouldn't take me on. I'll bet it wasn't half as hard as this one!"

"You'll be gettin' as strong as a young bear, lad, and as toughened up as a wolvering before you leaves The Labrador," chuckled Skipper Zeb.

"Mother'll be scared when I tell her what I've done here," said Charley, "but Dad will be proud of it. They never thought I could do _anything_ hard, and never let me do anything much. They'll know now what I can do!"

"We never knows what we can do till we tries un," commented Skipper Zeb.

The following morning Skipper Zeb did not wake the boys, but left them to sleep while he slipped away alone to set traps in the forest and marshes along the lake sh.o.r.e. It was broad day when they awoke, and when they had eaten Toby suggested:

"We'll be goin' out with my rifle and try shootin' at a mark."

"May I shoot?" asked Charley eagerly. "I never shot a gun in my life and I'd like to learn!"

"'Tis easy," a.s.sured Toby. "I'll be showin' you how, and you'll be learnin' quick."

Before they left the tilt Toby instructed Charley in how to fill the magazine and how to manipulate the lever, impressing all the time upon his pupil the necessity of caution, and telling tales of two or three of his acquaintances who had been shot through the careless handling of firearms.

When Charley had learned the rudiments of gun handling to Toby's satisfaction, they went a little way down the lake sh.o.r.e, and selecting a bank as a background, in order, Toby told Charley, that bullets that missed the mark might not go crashing through the forest, but would be buried in the earth, he fastened a small square of white birchbark upon a spruce tree, to serve as a target, and retired with Charley to a distance of about fifty yards from it.

"Now try a shot," Toby directed.

"How do you hold the rifle steady?" asked Charley who found the muzzle wabbling woefully.

Toby, with much patience, ill.u.s.trated the method of placing the feet, the position in which to stand, how to hold the arm, and how to aim properly.

"Now don't pull un with a jerk. Hold your breath and squeeze the trigger hand together all at once, so she goes off almost without your knowin'

when she goes."

Charley proved himself an apt pupil, and after a few shots rarely missed the target.

Skipper Zeb did not return to the tilt for dinner, and after the boys had eaten Toby suggested that they stroll up the lake sh.o.r.e in the hope that they might get a shot at some partridges.

"May I carry your rifle and try to shoot them if we see any?" asked Charley eagerly.

"Aye," agreed Toby, "'twill be fine for you to try un, now you knows how to shoot."

Charley took the rifle eagerly, and this time took the lead, as the hunter. They had walked but a short distance when Toby whispered:

"Drop quick!"