‘THE DEN OF THE GRAY WOLF.’
“Not long ago I was doing the Tobique with Joe Maxim, an old hunter whom I think none of you have met. We were dropping smoothly down with the current, approaching the Narrows.
“Maxim was a curious and interesting character. Of good old Colonial stock, and equipped in youth with an excellent education, he had found himself, in early manhood, at odds with society and the requirements of civilized life. Perhaps through some remote ancestor there had crept into his veins a streak of Indian or other wandering blood. At any rate, the wilderness had drawn him with a spell that overcame all counter attractions. He drifted to the remotest backwoods, and there devoted himself to hunting and trapping. Never entering the settlements except to purchase supplies or sell his furs, he had spent the best years of his life in an almost unbroken solitude. Yet the few sportsmen who penetrated to his haunts and sought his skilful services found that seclusion had failed to make him morose. He was kindly, and not uncompanionable; and though in appearance one of the roughest of his adopted class, he preserved to a marked degree the speech and accent of his earlier days.
“‘You were speaking just now,’ said he, ‘of the wolves coming back to New Brunswick. Well, they’re here, off and on, most of the time, I reckon. It was not far from here that I had a scrimmage with them about twenty years back.’
“At this point a murmurous roaring began to make itself heard on the still air; and before I could ask any more questions about the wolves, Maxim exclaimed,—
“‘We can’t go through the “Narrows” to-night. Not light enough with this head of water. Better camp right here.’
“‘Agreed!’ said I; and we slid gently up along side of a projecting log. Presently we had the tent pitched on a bit of dry, soft sward that sloped ever so little toward the waterside. Behind the tent was a thicket of spruce that sheltered us from the night wind; and in front laughed softly the river, as it hurried along its shining trail beneath the full moon, to bury itself in the chasms of the dark hill-range which separated it from its sovereign, the wide St. John.
“After supper, when the camp-fire was blazing cheerfully, Maxim told me about the wolves.
“‘Well,’ said he in a reminiscent tone, ‘it was in those hills yonder, very near the Narrows, I struck the wolves. I knew there were a good many of them ’round that winter, as I’d come across lots of their tracks. There was a bounty then of fifteen dollars on a wolf’s snout,—that was twenty years ago,—and I was keeping my eyes pretty well peeled. My lookout was all in vain, however, till along one afternoon I caught sight of one of the skulking vermin dodging behind some bushes, not far from here, but on the other side of the river. It was only a snap shot I got at the beast, but I wounded it; and you’d better believe I lost no time following up the trail. By the way he bled, I could see that he was hard hit.
“‘He led me away up, nigh the top of the mountain, then took a sharp turn to the river; and pretty soon I came out onto a little level place, a sort of high platform, in front of a big, bare slope of rock. In the foot of that rock there was a hole, just about big enough for a man to crawl into on his hands and knees, and into that hole led the trail of my wolf.
“‘“Got him, fast enough!” said I to myself; “but how to get at him—there’s the rub!” As I stood there considering, another wolf slid by me, like a long, gray shadow, and sneaked into the den. Without putting the gun to my shoulder, I gave him a shot, which fetched him in the hindquarters just as he disappeared. “That’s good for thirty dollars,” said I to myself, loading up again, and hoping some more would come along.
“‘They didn’t come; so pretty soon I gave them up, and went and examined the hole. I could see that it narrowed down rapidly, and I hardly knew what to do. I wanted that thirty dollars; but I didn’t want to crawl into that little dark hole after it, with maybe a couple of yet lively wolves waiting at the other end to receive me.’
“‘Why didn’t you leave them there and go back for them next day? By that time, if they were really hard-hit, you’d have found them dead enough!’ was my comment.
“‘There wouldn’t have been much of them left for me by the morrow,’ said Maxim. ‘I knew well enough the other wolves would scent the blood and come along, and help themselves to snouts and all in the night. So by and by I made up my mind to crawl in and risk it. Standing my gun up against the rock, and taking my knife in my right hand, I started in!’
“‘Ugh!’ said I, ‘it makes me shiver to think of it!’
“‘It was nasty,’ assented Maxim; ‘but then, I counted on one of the vermin, at least, being dead; and I didn’t think there’d be much fight left in the other. But that hole narrowed down mighty sudden, and the first thing I knew, I had to crawl flat on my stomach to get along at all; and presently I found it tight squeezing even that way. Of course I held my right hand, with the knife in it, well to the front, ready to protect my head and face.
“‘Just as the hole got so tight for me that I was about concluding to give up the job, I heard a terrific snarl right in my ear, and a wolf jumped onto me. His fangs got me right in the jaw,—you can see the scars here now,—and I thought I was about fixed. But I slashed out desperately with my big knife, and caught my assailant somewhere with a deadly thrust. He yelped, and sprang out of the way.
“‘I felt the blood streaming over my face, and knew I was badly bitten. I’d had enough of that enterprise; but when I tried to back out the way I had come, I found I couldn’t work it. When it dawned upon me that I was stuck in that trap, a cold sweat broke out all over me. I was stuck, and no mistake. Then I wriggled a little farther in; and, at this, the wolf was onto me again. This time my face escaped, and his fangs went into my shoulder; but the next moment my knife-edge found his throat, and down he came in a heap. Then I lay still a bit, to get my breath and consider the situation. The one thing clear was, that I had got myself into a tight place, and I began to wriggle for all I was worth in order to get out of it.
“‘After twisting and tugging and straining for perhaps ten solid minutes, I was forced to acknowledge to myself that I had not gained one inch. Then I made up my mind that my only hope lay in squeezing myself all the way in. Once inside the cave, I thought, it would be comparatively easy work to wriggle out head-first. In this direction I gained a few inches,—perhaps a foot, or more; and by this time I felt so exhausted that I wanted to lie still and take a sleep, which, I knew, of course, would be madness.
“‘Intending to rest but a moment, I must, nevertheless, have fallen into a doze. How long I lay thus, I don’t know; but it must have been getting well along past sundown when I was awakened by a sound that brought my heart into my throat and made every hair stand on end. It was the howl of a wolf outside!’
“I interrupted the story at this point with an involuntary ‘Ah—h—h!’
“‘Yes,’ said Maxim, acknowledging my sympathy, ‘I could face any number of the vermin, and not lose hold of myself; but the idea of them coming along behind, and eating me gradually, feet first, was too much. I think that for a minute or two I must have been clean crazy. At any rate, I found strength enough, in that minute or two, to force my way right on, and into the cave, without knowing how I did it. And I found afterwards that the struggle had peeled off, not only most of my clothes, but lots of the flesh on my hips and shoulders as well.
“‘As soon as I realized that I was inside the den, I felt round for the two dead wolves, and stuffed them head-first into the hole I had just come through. They filled it pretty snugly; and then I seated myself on their hind legs to hold them solid, and hunted for a match.
“‘In the rags of my clothes I had a pocket left, and fortunately there were some matches in it. Lighting one, I perceived in the sudden flare that I was in a little cave, about four feet high, and maybe seven or eight feet square. The floor of it was dry sand, and there were bones lying about.
“‘Presently, in the tunnel behind me, sounded a snarl that seemed to come right against my backbone, and I jumped about a foot. Then I grabbed hold of the dead wolves, and hung onto them for all I was worth, for I could feel something dragging at one of them. You see, my experience in the hole had shaken my nerves pretty badly. If I’d been just myself, I should have cleared the way, and let my assailants in, killing them one by one, with my knife, as they crawled through. As it was, however, I gave a yell that scared the brute in the tunnel, so that he backed out in a hurry, and then I heard two or three of them howling outside. But it encouraged me a good deal to see what an effect my voice produced.
“‘Pretty soon one of the wolves crept back, sniffing, sniffing, into the hole; and as soon as he discovered that it was only dead wolves that were stopping the way, he began to gnaw. It was a sickening sound he made, gnawing that way. After standing it as long as I could, I put my face down between the bodies, and gave another yell. How it echoed in that little place! and how quick that wolf backed out again! For all the misery and anxiety I was in, I couldn’t help laughing to myself there in the dark, wondering what the brute would think it was.
“‘I tried this game on half a dozen times very successfully; but after that the wolves ceased to mind it. One would come and gnaw for a while, then another would give him a nip in the rear, squeeze past, and take his place. I soon began to fear my unique barricade would be all eaten away before morning, and I cast about in my mind for some other means of diverting the hungry animals’ attention.
“‘At length a brilliant idea struck me. I lit a match, and thrust it into the hole right under the cannibals’ noses. That gave them a big surprise, I can tell you. They backed out in a great hurry, and sniffed about and howled a good deal before they ventured in again. As long as those matches held out, I had no trouble; and the wolves just kept howling outside the hole, not daring to come in after their victuals while there were such mysterious goings-on within the cave.
“‘By and by, however, like all good things, the matches came to an end. Then presently in came the wolves, and soon they were gnawing away harder than ever. I was thinking that before long I would have to fight it out with the crowd after all, and then it occurred to me that I might as well begin right off. Lying flat down, I thrust my right hand, with the knife in it, blade up, as far as I could reach out into the hole, but underneath the dead wolves. Then I gave two or three tremendous sweeping slashes.
“‘One of the brutes must have caught it pretty stiff. He yelped and snarled hideously, and got outside for all he was worth. Then for a minute or two the whole lot howled and yelped in chorus. They must have been discussing the various mysteries of the cave, and concluded that these were too dangerous to be explored any further; for presently all was silent, and by an occasional yelp in the distance, I knew that the animals had betaken themselves elsewhere. I know it was a crazy thing to do; but just as soon as I’d made up my mind the wolves were gone, I dropped to sleep right across the entrance of the den.
“‘When I awoke I was so still and my wounds pained so, that I could hardly move. But I knew I had to brace up, and get out of that before another night should come. I pulled away the bodies, and saw it was broad daylight. I took my knife, and chipped away for a long while at the walls and roof of the tunnel, finding the rock very soft and crumbly. Then I crawled out, with pain and difficulty, and pointed straight for the settlements, where I arrived more dead than alive. But I managed to lug along with me what there was left of those wolf-snouts, together with the tails; and I got the thirty dollars after all.’
“As Maxim finished his story, the roar of the Narrows, long unheeded, fell again upon my ear with a distinctness almost startling, and a loon cried mockingly from a hidden lakelet. Maxim rose, and replenished the sinking fire. Then we rolled ourselves into our blankets, as I propose that we all do now.”
“Agreed!” cried several voices at once; and very soon the camp on the Toledi was sunk in slumber.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE TOLEDI AND TEMISCOUATA.
None of us awoke next morning till the sun was high and the dew all gone in the open places about the camp. The air was sweet with wild perfumes, and alive with birds and butterflies. It was near noon by the time we found ourselves afloat on the Toledi River. This is a larger stream than the Squatook, and much more violent. The “Toledi Falls” are less than half a mile from the lake, and most travellers “portage” around them rather than risk the difficult passage. Indeed, the mighty, plunging swells, the succession of leaps, the roar and tumult between those rocky walls, render the passage by no means enticing when looked at in cold blood. But we knew the channels, and were resolved to “run it.” It is no use attempting to tell just how we did it. I only know we all yelled with fierce delight as we darted into the gorge, and I imagine our eyes stuck out. Our muscles were like steel, and we tingled to the finger-tips. Then came a few wild moments when every man did his level best without knowing exactly how; for the white surges clashed deafeningly about us, and with cheers we swept into the big eddy below the falls—drenched, but safe. What cared we for a wetting in that clear sunshine? The passion of travel was on us, and we could not stay to fish. All the rest of the run down to Temiscouata is like a dream to me. Few rocks, few shoals, a straight channel, and always that tearing current. At four in the afternoon a last mad rapid hurled us out into the wide expanse of Temiscouata. There was a sharp wind on the lake, which is thirty miles long, and at this point about three miles wide. In the heavy seas, with our deep-laden canoes, we had a rough and really perilous passage; and it was not far from six o’clock when we reached the other shore. There, near the outskirts of the little village of Détour du Lac, we pitched tent for the night.
After supper we took a run through the village, and had a chat with some of the habitans. We procured, moreover, some native Madawaska tobacco—which we smoked once, and never smoked again.
Around the fire that night we felt a sense of depression because our trip was drawing to an end. At last Magnus cried,—
“Shake off this gloom, boys. A story, Stranion!”
“All right; here’s something light and bright,” answered Stranion promptly. “Let us call it—