CHAPTER XVIII—ON THE TRAIL
“This is easy enough work, Bluff!”
Jerry said this as the two plodded along, following the trail left by the clumsy animal that had looked in on Will so unexpectedly.
“So far, we haven’t had any particular trouble,” Bluff replied. “The snowfall is what is called good tracking snow—that is, it’s just heavy enough without holding you up and making it hard traveling.”
“I wonder how much farther the old fellow means to go?” Jerry whispered, for he had been already warned by his chum that loud talking was unwise when on the trail of any animal with such keen hearing as a moose.
“Give it up,” Bluff replied. “I was just thinking how lucky it is for us he keeps heading straight into the wind. But I know how that is. A deer nearly always goes that way, because he can tell by means of his nose whether there’s any danger waiting for him ahead.”
“It makes it easier for the trackers, doesn’t it, Bluff?”
Bluff only grunted. He wanted to discourage his companion from trying to carry on a conversation. It was pretty hard to squelch Jerry under ordinary conditions, but his own good sense as a hunter must surely tell him how necessary it was they keep quiet.
They had been going along for more than two hours, and in such a direct line that they figured they must be some miles from camp. Neither of them recognized their surroundings, which would seem to indicate that they were in a section of the Big Woods they had never visited before.
Bluff was considerable of a woodsman. He consulted his compass frequently, and took various notes of his surroundings. Jerry saw all this, and had the utmost confidence in their ability to return to camp at any time the notion struck them.
If they were bothering their heads about anything just then, it must have been in connection with the chances they had of overtaking the big moose. Every little while Jerry would beseech his comrade to tell him how close he thought they had come to the quarry. On such occasions Bluff would prove true to his name. Although he actually did not know for certain, he would look wise, take another keen observation, wrinkle his nose, and then hazard some opinion.
“We’re gaining, all right,” he was pretty sure to tell Jerry, though declining to commit himself to any particular figures.
Both were by now beginning to feel the effect of the tramp. While the snow was hardly deep enough to interfere to any marked degree with their progress, in the long run it added to the labor of lifting their feet countless times. Its weight, whenever it clung to their heavy shoes, made an additional burden to be reckoned with.
“Bluff, it’s beginning!” whispered Jerry, after another spell of silence had reigned between them and they had covered still more ground.
“What is?” demanded Bluff, turning around to look at his chum uneasily, for he had detected a ring of uncertainty in Jerry’s utterance.
“I saw a snowflake drifting down just then; and—yes, there’s another; you can tell for yourself, Bluff!”
“Huh! Hang the luck, if it begins to come down on us now and blots out our trail, we’ll be in the soup!”
The flakes came down pretty heavily for a few minutes, while the boys continued to press on with mingled emotions.
It proved to be a false alarm, however. In five minutes Jerry remarked, again in an excited whisper:
“She’s letting up, Bluff; sure she is! I don’t believe we’re due for any big storm yet. The sky’s brightening a lot.”
Bluff saw that things were commencing to look better; but he fancied this was only a temporary relief. It might hold back for an hour, and even be delayed longer; but Bluff was almost as certain as Frank had been that a storm was impending.
“If the blooming old thing’d only keep away till we’d bagged our game, I wouldn’t say a single thing,” he muttered, and then fell silent while following the trail.
Fortunately there had not been enough snow to hinder them from seeing the plain tracks of the moose. So heavy an animal was bound to sink in and leave a trail that even a greenhorn could follow fairly well.
“What time is it, Bluff?” asked Jerry, upon seeing the other snatch a look at the little gun-metal watch he carried.
“Close on three,” he was informed.
“And we’ve been walking since noon, nearly,” Jerry continued. “We must have gone miles and miles.”
Bluff did not answer. He hoped in that way to convince his talkative chum that while there was a time for everything, a tracking expedition, with a wary old bull moose ahead, was not the occasion for carrying on a general conversation.
Occasionally flakes of snow would drift down. Jerry always observed their coming with fresh apprehension, and was correspondingly relieved when they stopped. It was as if the weather were holding off, though when the storm did break it was apt to prove all the more fierce on account of the delay.
Bluff had ceased examining his compass now. In fact, he was caring precious little whether they found themselves lost or not. Looking ahead, a night in the Big Woods did not appall him; being fond of adventure, Bluff might even welcome the experience for a change.
Being thrown on their own resources would bring out their ability to take care of themselves. Bluff was vain enough to want to show Frank he could be trusted when off in the timber, and get out of any tangle that might envelop them.
Perhaps when Jerry happened to feel the little package of food thrust into one of his pockets by thoughtful Frank, he no longer had that inclination to laugh. Knowledge that they carried their supper along with them was growing more and more inspiring the farther they walked.
“Even if we did come up on the moose soon,” Jerry observed, keeping his voice low, “I don’t believe I’d be equal to the job of going all the way back to our cabin again this afternoon.”
“Huh! Camp, then!” grunted Bluff.
“If we have to do that, I’ll surely forgive Frank for making me tote my little camp hatchet along, because it will come in handy for chopping firewood, don’t you think so, Bluff?”
“Sure,” was all the other could be induced to say, and he snapped that out as though he had a special grievance against the poor little word.
Jerry looked at him with gloomy brow.
“You’re not very sociable, it strikes me,” he ventured.
“And you’re too much that way,” he was told bluntly. “When you want to hear yourself talk so much, why don’t you hire a hall? But when you’re going to all this trouble to overtake an old bull moose, please, please shut up!”
“I won’t say another word for ten minutes!” declared Jerry, in a huff.
“Make it fifteen and I’ll thank you double,” whispered Bluff.
After that they walked on and on, neither as much as whispering. Bluff, in the lead, was bending part way over, so that his tired eyes could the better see the trail. All that whiteness was beginning to dazzle him considerably. Bluff felt a little alarmed, and hoped that he might not go snow-blind just when they were drawing near the quarry.
The wind was increasing, and it felt colder than at any time since they had arrived in the Big Woods. Should the snow start to descend, and the gale grow in volume, they must unite to form what Frank had called a blizzard.
Bluff knew something about such a storm. He had even been through an experience of the sort, though at the time he happened to be close to home, and on a well-traveled road, so there had been no such thing as getting lost.
It would be vastly different here, where the trees looked pretty much alike and all sense of direction must depend on a compass.
Jerry was, to tell the truth, pretty near the point where he would be willing to call a halt. A big moose was all very well, if only you could overtake him; but this thing of pushing on and on everlastingly, without seeming to get a yard nearer your intended game, seemed foolish.
That was what Jerry had begun to tell himself. He wondered how much farther his chum meant to go. Jerry would have asked the question, but really he was afraid Bluff would turn on him and snap him up in that quick way he had. Besides, he had said he did not mean to speak for at least ten minutes.
While he cast frequent looks ahead, it was more in the hope of seeing signs of the westering sun peeping out from the gray clouds that covered the heavens everywhere than that he dreamed of making any other agreeable discovery.
Once they had actually seen a deer jumping off through the timber. Bluff had half raised his gun to his shoulder, perhaps through instinct, and then lowered it again instantly, with a negative shake of his head.
Having started out for big game, he did not mean to be diverted from his course. A deer they could secure almost any time, but never again would such a glorious chance arise for getting a shot at a moose—and such a moose, in the bargain!
Frank had advised Bluff to leave his pump-gun behind this time, and carry the repeating rifle which Frank owned, a very serviceable and reliable weapon.
“A shotgun is all very well,” he had argued, “and some of them will shoot charges of twelve buckshot in a satisfactory way; but when it’s a tough old bull moose you’re after, or like that grizzly out West, you need something better. These soft-nosed bullets will mushroom when they strike, and fetch even a lion. They’re the kind they call dum-dum bullets, and are not allowed in warfare any more, but can be used for big-game hunting.”
And so it came that Bluff was carrying another firearm than his favorite pump-gun. Frank knew how tough these old moose may prove to be, and what sort of missiles it took to bring them down to their knees. That was why he had insisted on Bluff’s making the change in weapons at the last moment.
Jerry was soon wondering if that ten minutes must not be up, and whether Bluff would scold if he ventured to make just one little remark. He was getting tired, and he certainly did not mean to keep up this merry chase indefinitely. If he had a good chance, he wanted to tell Bluff that.
Then he observed that Bluff was showing signs of fresh interest. Yes, he even displayed more or less excitement, and bent lower than ever while examining the tracks before him.
Jerry, being held up momentarily by this action on the part of his comrade, assumed the easiest position he could, so as to rest his tired muscles, and then patiently waited for the other to start on again.
It was while standing in this attitude and looking carelessly beyond that some slight movement attracted the attention of Jerry. He started, and looked again. Then he felt an icy chill run over his frame, to be followed instantly by a burning sensation.
Yes, it moved again, he could be positive! His startled eyes traveled over the immensity of the brownish figure that was outlined there against the snowy background. Not daring, and really unable, to say a single word, Jerry simply reached out a quivering hand and, jerking at his chum’s coat, pointed directly forward.
And Bluff, looking, saw the moose before them, looking, as Will had said, “as big as a barn.”