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The Trapper's Son, a fiction by William H. G. Kingston |
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Chapter 1. The Trapper's Camp... |
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_ CHAPTER ONE. THE TRAPPER'S CAMP--BEAVERS CAUGHT--THE HORSES KILLED BY WOLVES--TRAPS TO CATCH THE WOLVES. In the far western wilds of North America, over which the untutored red-skinned savage roams at liberty, engaged throughout life in war or the chase, by the side of a broad stream which made its way towards a distant lake, an old man and a boy reclined at length beneath a wigwam, roughly formed of sheets of birch-bark placed against several poles stuck in the ground in a circular form, and fastened together at the top. The sun was just rising above a wood, composed of maple, birch, poplar, and willow, fringing the opposite bank of the river; while rocky hills of no great elevation formed the sides of the valley, through which the stream made its way. Snow rested on the surrounding heights, and the ground was crisp with frost. The foliage which still clung to the deciduous trees exhibited the most gorgeous colours, the brightest red, pink, yellow, and purple tints contrasting with the sombre hues of the pines covering the lower slopes of the hills. "It's time to look to the traps, Laurence," said the old man, arousing his young companion, who was still asleep by the side of the smouldering embers of their fire. The boy sat up, and passed his hand across his eyes. There was a weary expression in his intelligent and not unpleasing countenance. "Yes, father, I am ready," he answered. "But I did not think the night was over; it seems but just now I lay down to sleep." "You have had some hard work lately, and are tired; but the season will soon be over, and we will bend our steps to Fort Elton, where you can remain till the winter cold has passed away. If I myself were to spend but a few days shut up within the narrow limits of such a place, I should soon tire of idleness, and wish to be off again among the forests and streams, where I have passed so many years." "Oh, do not leave me among strangers, father," exclaimed the boy, starting to his feet. "I am rested now, and am ready." They set out, proceeding along the side of the stream, stopping every now and then to search beneath the overhanging bushes, or in the hollows of the bank, where their traps had been concealed. From the first the old trapper drew forth an animal about three feet in length, of a deep chestnut colour, with fine smooth glossy hair, and a broad flat tail nearly a foot long, covered with scales. Its hind feet were webbed, its small fore-paws armed with claws, and it had large, hard, sharp teeth in its somewhat blunted head. Hanging up the beaver, for such it was, to a tree, they continued the examination of their snares. "Who would have thought creatures so easily caught could make such a work as this?" observed the old man, as they were passing over a narrow causeway which formed a dam across a smaller stream falling into the main river, and had created a back water or shallow lake of some size. The dam was composed of innumerable small branches and trunks of trees, laid horizontally across the stream, mixed with mud and stones. Several willows and small poplars were sprouting up out of it. "What! have the beavers made this?" asked Laurence. "Ay, every bit of it, boy; each stem and branch has been cut down by the creatures, with their paws and teeth. No human builders could have formed the work more skilfully. And observe how they thus have made a pond, ever full of water, above the level of the doorways to their houses, when the main stream is lowered by the heats of summer. See, too, how cleverly they build their houses, with dome roofs so hard and strong that even the cunning wolverine cannot manage to break through them, while they place the doorway so deep down that the ice in winter can never block it up inside. How warm and cozy, too, they are without the aid of fires or blankets." "How comes it, then, that they have not the sense to keep out of our traps, father?" inquired Laurence. "If you had ever been to the big cities, away to the east, you would not ask that question, boy," answered the old trapper. "You would there have seen thousands of men who seem wonderfully clever, and yet who get caught over and over again by cunning rogues who know their weak points; just as we bait our traps with bark-stone, [see Note] for which the foolish beaver has such a fancy, so the knaves bait their snares with promises of boundless wealth, to be gained without labour or trouble. To my mind, nothing is to be gained without working for it, and pretty hard work too, if the thing is worth having." This conversation passed between the old man and his son as they proceeded along the bank of the pond where some of their traps had been set. Some had failed to catch their prey, but after the search was ended, they returned to their camp with a dozen skins as the result of their labour. One of the animals which had been skinned having been preserved for their morning meal, it was soon roasting, supported on two forked sticks, before the freshly made-up fire. This, with some maize flour, and a draught of water from the stream, formed their repast. "Now, Laurence, go and bring in the horses, while I prepare the skins and do up our bales, and we will away towards the fort," said the old man. Laurence set off in search of their horses, which had been left feeding during the night in a meadow at some distance from the camp. The well-trained steeds, long accustomed to carry them and their traps and furs, were not likely to have strayed away from the ground. Laurence went on, expecting every moment to find them, but after proceeding some way, they were nowhere visible. Near at hand was a rocky height which overlooked the meadow. He climbed to the top; still he could not see the horses. Becoming somewhat anxious at their disappearance, he made his way across the meadow, hoping to find that they had discovered a richer pasturage farther on. As he looked round, he saw, to his dismay, two horses lying motionless on the ground. He hurried towards them. They were dead, and fearfully torn and mangled. "The wolves have done this, the savage brutes. We will be revenged on them," he exclaimed as he surveyed the dead steeds. "Father and I must have slept very soundly during the night not to have been awoke by their howling. It will be a sore grief to the old man, and I would that he had found it out himself, rather than I should have to tell him. However, it must be done." Saying this, he set off on his return to the camp. "The brutes shall pay dearly for it," exclaimed the old trapper, when Laurence brought him the intelligence of what had happened. "Whether Injuns or wolves wrong him, Michael Moggs is not the man to let them go unpunished;" and his eyes lighted up with a fierce expression which made the young boy instinctively shrink back from him. "We have three strong traps which will catch the biggest wolf on the prairies; and if they fail, I'll lie in wait till I can shoot the savage brutes down with my rifle. We shall have to tramp it on foot, boy, with the furs on our backs. That's bad for you, but we can leave the traps hidden away _en cache_; and as the snow will soon cover the ground, the cunning Injuns are not likely to find them. It's not the first adventure of the sort I have met with; and though I am sorry for your sake, and for the loss of our poor horses, I am not going to be cast down." Some time was spent in scraping the skins, and in repacking the most valuable of those already obtained in a compass which would enable the old man and his son to carry them. Not wishing to leave such valuable property in the hut, which might be visited during their absence by some wandering Indian, they then strapped the bales on to their backs, the old man carrying his rifle and the steel traps, and set out towards the meadow where their horses had been killed. Having planted the traps round the carcases of the slaughtered animals, and concealed them carefully, so that they could not be seen by the savage wolves, they returned to their hut. "The brutes will pay another visit to the poor horses, unless they fall in with other prey in the meantime, and that they are not likely to find about here," observed Moggs, as he sat down and struck a light to rekindle the fire. Laurence had collected a supply of dried branches, of which there was an abundance in the surrounding woods. "We must keep the fire burning during the night, or the savage creatures may chance to pay us a visit; and if they find us napping, they may treat us as they have our horses," continued the old man. "To-morrow morning, we shall have our revenge, and I shall be vexed indeed if we do not find two or three of the brutes in the traps." The day was spent, as many before had been passed when they were not travelling or setting their snares, in scraping furs, greasing their traps, and cleaning the old man's highly-prized rifle. Their conversation related wholly to the occupation in which they were engaged; of other matters young Laurence knew nothing. He was a true child of the desert. His early days had been spent in the wigwam of an Indian squaw, who had taught him the legends and faith of her people. Beyond that period his recollections were very faint. He had remained with her until Michael Moggs, who called himself his father, came for him and took him away. He had almost forgotten his native tongue; but from that time, by constantly associating with the old trapper, he soon again learned to speak it. Of the Christian faith he knew nothing, for Moggs and himself were utterly ignorant of its truths; while they had imbibed many of the superstitions of the savage Indians, the only human beings with whom they had for long years associated. Laurence believed firmly in the Great Spirit who governs the destinies of the Red men of the desert--in the happy hunting-grounds, the future abode of brave warriors who die fighting on the battle-field--in the existence of demons, who wander through the forests in search of victims--and in the occult powers of wizards and medicine men. He had been taught that the only objects in life worthy of the occupation of men were war and the chase--that he should look with contempt on those who, he had heard, spent their time in the peaceful business of agriculture and commerce; that revenge and hatred of foes were the noblest sentiments to be cultivated in the human breast; and that no act was more worthy than to kill a foe, or a feeling more delightful than to witness his suffering under torture. Yet the heart of young Laurence was not hardened, nor altogether debased. Occasionally yearnings for a different life to that he led rose in his bosom. Whence they came he could not tell. Still he could not help thinking that there might be a brighter and better state of existence in those far-off lands away beyond where he saw the glorious sun rise each morning, to run its course through the sky, and to sink again behind the snow-capped range of the Rocky Mountains, to the base of which he and his father had occasionally wandered. Whenever he had ventured even to hint the tenor of his thoughts to the old trapper, the scornful rebuke he had received kept him for many a day afterwards silent. As evening approached, the old man made a wide circuit round the camp to ascertain that no lurking foes lay hid in the neighbourhood. Having satisfied himself on that score, a large supply of fuel was piled up on the fire, when, after a frugal supper, he and the boy lay down to rest. Although Laurence slept soundly, Michael awoke constantly to put more wood on the fire, and not unfrequently to take a survey around the wigwam, knowing well that their lives might depend on his vigilance. No sooner did the first faint streaks of dawn appear in the sky than he aroused the boy. A hurried meal was eaten, and then they strapped on their packs and several bundles of furs, which, with their traps, Moggs intended to conceal till he could return for them. The remaining articles, and a few of the least valuable of their furs, were then thrown on the fire, and the wigwam being pulled down on the top of it, the whole mass of combustible material soon burst up into a flame, leaving in a short time no other trace of their abode on the spot than a pile of blackened cinders. They then made their way by a wide circuit into a neighbouring wood, beyond which a rocky hill afforded, in the old trapper's opinion, a secure place for concealing their goods. The old man stepped cautiously along, avoiding even brushing against any of the branches on either side, Laurence following in his footsteps. A small cave or hollow, which he had before observed, was soon found. In this the articles were deposited, and the mouth was closed up with stones brought from the hill-side, they again being concealed by a pile of broken branches and leaves, which, to the eye of a passer-by, might appear to have been blown there by the wind. "It is the best place we can find," exclaimed Moggs. "But if a strange Injun was to come this way before the snow covers the ground, our traps would soon be carried off. Most of the Crees, however, know that they are mine, and would think it wiser to leave them alone. We will hope for the best; and now, Laurence, let us go and see what the wolves have been about." Saying this, he and the boy commenced their retreat from the wood in the same cautious way by which they had approached it. ----------- Note. The bark-stone of which the old trapper spoke is the Castoreum, a substance secreted in two glandular sacs near the root of the beaver's tail, which gives out an extremely powerful odour, and so strangely attracts beavers that the animals, when they scent it at a distance, will sniff about and squeal with eagerness as they make their way towards it. The trapper, therefore, carries a supply in a bottle, and when he arrives at a spot frequented by the animals, he sets his traps, baiting them with some of the substance. This is done with a small twig of wood, the end of which he chews, and, dipping it in the Castoreum, places it just above water, close to the trap, which is beneath the surface, and in such a position that the beaver must pass over it to get at the bait. _ |
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