The Gun Club Boys of Lakeport

CHAPTER XXI

THE FIGHT OF THE PINE MARTENS

“Now, boys,” said Joel Runnell on the following morning, after all of the young hunters had enjoyed a good night’s rest, “I’m going to get you at something new.”

“What is it?” queried several, in chorus.

“So far all the game we have had has either been caught by a hook and line or brought down with a gun. Now I’m going to show you how to set traps for rabbits and other small animals, and also how to spear some big fish through a hole in the ice.”

“That’s the talk!” cried Joe. “I’ve been wanting to know something about traps for years.”

“Well, a small trap isn’t much of a thing to make,” answered the old hunter.

“I know how to make one kind of a rabbit trap,” came from Bart. “My uncle showed me how to make it.”

“There are a good many kinds of traps, aren’t there?” asked Fred.

At this Joel Runnell smiled.

“I should say so, my boy. I can make at least a dozen kinds, and I once knew a hunter from Canada who boasted of being able to make forty-six different kinds of traps and death-falls.”

“Gracious! that man hadn’t much use for a gun,” was Harry’s comment.

“It’s a good thing to know something about traps,” went on the old hunter. “There might come a time when you were out in the woods and mighty hungry, without a single charge of powder left. In such a case a trap may keep you from starving to death.”

The old hunter told them that he would first set a few rabbit and squirrel traps, and after that a death-fall for larger animals.

“I think I can locate the run of the rabbits on this island pretty well,” said he.

A good hot breakfast was had, and as soon as it was over Teddy insisted on washing up the few dishes which had been used. Then off they set in a crowd, satisfied that nobody would come to disturb their new shelter during an absence of only an hour or two.

Joel Runnell led the way around the cliff and then into a thicket where the pine trees fairly touched the ground.

“Here are hundreds of traps fairly waiting for us,” he said.

“I don’t see any,” said Teddy, gazing around vacantly.

“You’ll see one in a few minutes.”

Finding a spot that suited him, Joel Runnell cleared away some of the snow, which was but a few inches deep. Then, with a hatchet he had brought along, he cut two short sticks and near the top of each cut a sharp notch, the opening pointing downward.

“Now I’ll drive these two sticks into the ground, about eight inches apart,” said he; and put them down until the notches he had cut were less than a foot from the soil. “Joe,” he added, “you cut a strong, flat stick that will reach from one notch to the other.”

While Joe was doing this, old Runnell put down another stick, this time with a sharp upper point. The three sticks in the ground formed a triangle. Then a stick was cut, sharp at one end and blunt at the other. This the old hunter called the catch stick.

Several feet away was a sapling and this was readily bent down in the direction of the imperfect trap. To the sapling Joel Runnell tied a stout cord and to the lower end of the cord fastened a bit of wire in the form of a running loop.

“Now we’ll proceed to set our trap,” he said, and taking the catch stick he placed the blunt end under the stick Joe had put in the two notches and balanced the sharp end on the equally sharp end of the stick in front.

The sapling was now bent over until the loop, or noose, was low to the ground, between the two sticks in the ground and that in the notches. Then the string, just above the noose, was fastened to the blunt end of the catch stick.

“Now all we’ve got to do is to bait our trap and it will be ready for business,” went on Joel Runnell, and around the sharp stick in the ground fastened some extra tender twigs of brushwood he had found on the way. “You see, the minute Mr. Rabbit begins to eat the twigs, he’ll shake the stick. That will make the catch stick slip down at the sharp end. Up will fly the blunt end and so will the noose, with Mr. Rabbit dangling in it by the neck or by the body.”

“But he may go at the bait from the back,” said Bart.

“The trap is done, but we’ve got to persuade Mr. Rabbit to go at the bait from the front,” said the old hunter, and banked up the snow and dead brushwood around the three sides, leaving only the spot by the loop clear.

When the trap was completed they walked off and at a distance set another. By this time all the young hunters were at it, and in less than two hours nine traps, large and small, had been set and baited in various ways.

“If we wanted to, we could make some box traps for birds,” said old Runnell. “But I guess you won’t care for them this trip. It’s better to catch birds in the summer.”

“I’d rather not catch them at all,” said Fred. “They are not much good for food – that is, they don’t go aground like rabbits, or turkeys, or a deer. I don’t believe in killing them just for the fun of it.”

“What is a death-fall?” questioned Link.

“A death-fall is simply a heavy trap, for killing big game,” answered the old hunter. “Some are made simply of a heavy log, so placed that when the bait is disturbed the log comes down and crushes the beast. Others are made with a tough stick and a big rock.”

“Some hunters dig pitfalls for bears, don’t they?” asked one of the boys.

“Yes, but it’s not likely we’ll catch a bear in any such hole – they are too scarce around here. Besides, pitfalls are dangerous. Some years ago a hunter I knew fairly well fell into a pitfall dug the season before by some other hunters, and he broke his leg and two ribs.”

“It was mean to leave the pitfall unmarked,” said Joe.

“When you are in the woods there are several things worth remembering, lads. One is, never leave a fire without you’re certain it won’t do damage.”

“Yes, we’ve learned what fire can do,” said Fred, grimly.

“Another thing is, don’t fool with your firearms, and don’t point a gun at the other fellow just because you think the gun isn’t loaded. And another thing, never point your gun at yourself or at anybody else when you are climbing a fence, or crawling through the brushwood. The hammer may catch on something and somebody may be killed.”

“Yes, I knew of a boy who was killed that way,” said Harry. “He was climbing a rail fence and the charge nearly took the top of his head off.”

“And finally,” said Joel Runnell, “when you leave a camp, don’t break up everything in sight just for the sport of it, thinking you’ll never come back that way again. You may want to come back the very next season, or, if you don’t, somebody else may happen that way and it will be a pleasure for that party to find things in shape for use, just as we found Snow Lodge ready for use.”

By the time the young hunters had returned to the shelter the wind was rising once more, and they were glad enough to sit around the fire and get warm. While they ate their midday meal Joel Runnel explained many traps and their workings to the boys, and told of what animals he had caught from time to time by such means.

They were just preparing to go out for the afternoon when Link, who was at the doorway, called softly to his companions.

“Don’t make any noise,” he said. “I think there is some kind of an animal around.”

“Is it a bear?” queried Bart.

“I don’t know what it is.”

“Where did you hear it, Link?” asked Joe.

“Down near the lake. It made a very odd sound.”

By this time all had reached for their guns and were coming forth from the shelter.

“Come with me, Link,” said old Runnell. “You others hang back a little. We’ll find out what it is that is prowling around. I don’t believe it’s a bear.”

With extreme caution Joel Runnell led the way in the direction Link had pointed out. The snow covered the rough rocks so that walking was extremely difficult.

Just as they were to pass from under some pine trees into the open there came a cat-like cry from a tree to their right. Wheeling around, the old hunter caught sight of two animals facing each other on a sloping tree limb. Each animal was rather larger than a good sized house cat and had a long, bushy tail and short, stout legs.

“What are they, cats?” whispered Link.

“No, pine martens,” returned the old hunter, in a low voice. “Get back and perhaps we’ll see some fun.”

He caught Link by the arm, and both drew back a few paces. Then the others were motioned to keep silent.

The two pine martens soon began to growl and spit at each other exactly as do two house cats when on a back fence to settle a long-standing dispute. They were so much in earnest that neither noted the approach of the hunters, although usually a pine marten is very shy and quick to detect danger.

“What a battle!” remarked Joe, when each had made a savage claw at the other. “You’d almost think they were two old Toms, wouldn’t you?”

“Perhaps you’d better heave a boot-jack at them,” came dryly from Bart.

“Hush, lads,” put in Joel Runnell. “Be prepared to fire the minute they try to run away. Remember, they may disappear like magic.”

“Let me shoot one,” pleaded Link. “I haven’t had any chance at game yet.”

“And let me try for the other,” came from Bart.

“All right. But take careful aim, or the martens will get away from you.”

CHAPTER XXII

TEDDY MEETS “THE INDIANS”

In order to get a better view of the pine martens, who had shifted slightly from where they were first fighting, Link and Bart moved cautiously along among several big pine trees.

“I’ll take the lighter one,” said Bart.

“All right, I’ll try for the darker,” said his chum. Both of the martens were brown, but there were several shades of difference between the pair.

“Are you ready?” came a few seconds later.

“Yes.”

“Then fire!”

Crack! crack! went the two guns in rapid succession and up into the air leaped both of the animals. Then they came down into the snow and whirled over and over. One was mortally wounded and quickly expired, but the one shot by Bart, tried to crawl away.

“He’s going to get away from ye!” cried Teddy Dugan, in strong excitement. “Let me give him a shot, won’t ye?”

“Yes,” answered Bart, and no sooner had he spoken than the Irish boy blazed away, and over on its back went the pine marten, as dead as a stone.

All of the young hunters rushed up to inspect the prizes. They found the pine martens of a strong odor, but with beautiful furs.

“Those pelts are worth something,” said Joel Runnell.

“Can we eat the meat?” asked Bart.

“I don’t think you’ll care particularly for the flavor. But you want to save the furs.”

“We shall certainly do that,” said Link, and then old Runnell showed them how to skin the game so that the fur would not be damaged.

Now that they were out with their guns they continued the hunt until sunset. During that time they were lucky enough to get three rabbits and two squirrels and also some more nuts out of the hole of one of the latter creatures.

It was growing colder steadily and by sunset all of the young hunters were more than glad to get back to the shelter.

“Oh, but this night is going to be a stinger!” predicted Joe, and he was right. They brought in a large quantity of firewood and set the blaze to going as hard as they dared. The pine trees leaning against the cliff were getting dry and they had to be careful that no sparks should set them ablaze.

“We’ve burnt down one shelter, we don’t want to burn down another,” said old Runnell, and Joe, Harry and Fred agreed with him.

By midnight it was so cold that several of the boys could not sleep. Wrapped up in their blankets they huddled so close to the fire that one of them, Bart, had one corner of his wrap badly singed.

“Look out, you’re on fire!” came from Joe, in a warning, and Bart leaped up and did a war dance in an effort to brush away the sparks which had reached him.

Some water had been brought into the shelter for drinking purposes, but long before morning this was frozen into a solid chunk, which Teddy Dugan surveyed with a comical look on his face.

“Sure an’ nobody will be after drinkin’ that,” he said. “If you want water you’ll have to chew it!”

“This is the banner cold snap so far,” observed Harry. “I trust the thermometer doesn’t go much lower.”

“If it does the bottom will drop out sure,” added Link, with a grin.

“I don’t feel much like stirring from the fire,” came from Fred.

“See Fred, doubled up like a squaw,” cried Bart. “Fred, are you toasted yet?”

“Never mind, I noticed you grumbled as much as I did, during the night,” returned the stout youth.

“Did I?”

“Did you? Well, I just guess. You wanted all the extra blankets, you did.”

“Never mind, boys,” said Joel Runnell. “We’ll have a good hot breakfast, and that will warm us all up.”

Pancake flour had been brought along by Link and Bart, and that morning they had coffee, pancakes, and fried rabbit. They did full justice to the meal, and as old Runnell had said, all felt warm and in better humor after the repast was finished.

It remained cold all day, and the boys spent the time around the shelter, cutting more firewood, and fixing the place up so that the wind could not get in quite so freely. Link started another snowball fight, but it did not last.

Yet Link was out for some fun, and at supper time he reminded Harry of the trick to be played on Teddy.

“I’m willing,” came from Harry, readily. “But I think we ought to let the others know, so they can enjoy the fun.”

“I shouldn’t tell Runnell. He might want to stop us.”

So it was agreed to tell the other boys. All were much interested and did what they could to make Harry and Link look like Indians.

First some reddish dirt was dug up and thawed out, after which it was mixed with a little rabbit grease and smeared on their faces. Then some feathers were put in bands and stuck around their heads, and each wrapped himself in a camp blanket, in true Indian style.

“You’ve got to have weapons,” said Joe. “Here, each take a hatchet.”

“I brought along a bow and some arrows,” said Bart. “Link can take that.”

“And I’ll take my gun,” put in Harry.

“See that it is empty first,” said Joe, warningly. “We don’t want any accident.” And the weapon was discharged on the spot.

All these preparations were made in secret, while old Runnell was out looking for game. The boys had persuaded Teddy to go out, too.

When Joel Runnell and the Irish lad returned to camp Link and Harry were missing.

“They went up the north shore,” said Joe. “Teddy, they wanted to know if you wouldn’t follow them up. I think they have something they want you to help carry home.”

“All right,” answered the Irish lad, willingly, and set off at once, whistling merrily as he trudged along.

As luck would have it, Joel Runnell was busy skinning some rabbits found in the traps. Consequently he did not notice the actions of the boys and inside of a minute after Teddy left the camp they were following him up.

“Don’t let him see you,” whispered Joe to the others. “If he does the game will be spoilt.”

“You keep out of sight yourself,” returned Bart.

“And don’t talk so loud,” came from Fred. “Remember, it’s so quiet just now a fellow’s voice carries further than you imagine.”

After that they remained silent and took good care that Teddy should not see them.

All unconscious of the trick about to be played upon him, the Irish lad trudged on and on, until he was quarter of a mile from camp.

“Hello, boys!” he called out. “Where are you?”

No answer came back, and he continued to move on, until a sudden stir in some bushes caused him to halt. It was after sunset and the woods appeared dim and ghostly.

“I say, where are you?” he went on. “Link! Harry!”

Again there was no answer, but now he saw two forms moving silently from the bushes to a spot behind him.

Joe had seen to it that Teddy did not take his gun along, so the Irish lad was totally unarmed. He watched the figures in considerable alarm.

“Sure an’ they can’t be the boys,” he told himself. “Link! Harry!”

Slowly the figures drew closer and as they did so Teddy’s hair almost stood on end.

“Indians!” he cried. “Indians! Oh, I’m a dead b’y now!”

“Pa-wa! Pa-wa!” cried one of the advancing figures. “Bunk-a-bunk a busta-bust! Pa-wa!”

“Nunk-a-nuck!” came from the other. “White boy Injun prisoner!”

“Mercy on me!” shrieked poor Teddy. “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me, Mr. Indian!”

“White boy big chief’s prisoner,” came from the second figure. “Maybe scalp white boy!”

At this Teddy clasped his hands in terror.

“Don’t ye do it!” he yelled. “Help! somebody, help! The Indians have come to murder us all in our beds! Don’t touch my hair! I nade it, I do!”

He wanted to run, but one of the wrapped-up figures caught him by the arm, while the other raised his hatchet threateningly.

“White boy be silent!” was the command. “No speak a word.”

“Fer the sake o’ me family!” groaned Teddy. “Please let me go!”

“White boy good to eat maybe?”

“To eat is it! Oh, my! just to hear o’ that now! No, I’m no good to eat! I’m tough, terribul tough! If ye try to eat me ye’ll break yer teeth!”

At this came a snicker from behind the trees.

“Say, but he’s scared right enough,” murmured Bart.

“Down on your knees – your Japanese,” went on Harry, giving his hatchet a wild flourish.

“Oh! oh! Don’t sca – scalp me!” groaned Teddy, and fell on his knees.

“Injuns let white boy go on one condition,” said Link, who had a wild desire to burst out laughing.

“What is that?” was the eager question.

“White boy stand on head and sing big song.”

CHAPTER XXIII

PIKE SPEARING THROUGH THE ICE

“Well, did you ever hear the beat of that?” asked Fred, in a whisper, after Link had made his outrageous request.

“Hush, we may miss something,” came from Joe.

“Stand on me head, is it?” asked Teddy, thinking he had not heard aright.

“Yes. Sing big song.”

“What shall I sing?”

“Sing, De Wacht am Rhine.”

“Eh? I can’t sing a Dutch song.”