It was a simple matter to cut notches in one end of each arrow, but it was a far more difficult job to fit heads. The beaver’s bones were the only material I had for this purpose and I found it hard work indeed to cut and sharpen these into any semblance of an arrow-head. Indeed, I found it so difficult that I even sought to chip arrow-heads from the pebbles of the river, but I had not the remotest idea how stone arrow-heads were made and my efforts in this direction resulted only in bruised fingers and irregular, broken stones of no earthly use for my purpose.
By dint of hard work and the expenditure of many hours I finally cut and ground down some bones until they had sharp points at one end and a recess at the other, and to these I bound my arrow sticks with the sinews taken from the beaver. I still had a bowstring to make, and as I worked away at the bones I busied my mind trying to invent some sort of cord which would stand the strain of the bow. I thought of the tendons of the beaver, but these were neither long enough to serve the purpose nor were there enough to braid together to form a string, and I was at last compelled to fall back upon hemlock roots. An examination of the broken bowstring revealed the fact that it had parted at the knot at one end, and to avoid this I decided to braid or lash a loop in the new string. I made this new cord much heavier than the old, selected the fibers with greater care, and smeared the whole with pitch. The loops at the ends were twisted in and lashed in place with tendons, and when all was done I drew the bow with some trepidation for fear all my hard labor would be wasted. Much to my satisfaction, the string withstood the strain and I practised until dark with straight sticks which had bits of stone gummed on with pitch for heads, and I found that up to twenty feet I could frequently hit a mark the size of a partridge.
Anxious to test my weapons on real game, I arose early the following morning and entered the woods in search of partridge. I soon flushed a flock of grouse from among the young fir-trees, and as they perched upon the branches and craned their heads to view the intruder I approached closely, placed an arrow on the string, drew the bow, and let drive. I doubt if I was a dozen feet distant from the birds and they were packed so closely together on the branch that I could scarcely have missed them, but when the bone-tipped stick struck one of the grouse in the breast and with a great flapping he came tumbling to earth, I felt as if I was the most marvelous archer in the world. As the partridge fell the others took wing and whirred out of sight, but I paid little attention to them and hurried to pick up my first feathered game. The arrow was still sticking in the bird’s flesh, although the stick had been broken in his fall, but the head was the only valuable portion, and I hurried back to my fire, happy in the thought that I now had a weapon with which I could actually kill game.
The wing-feathers of the grouse were carefully saved, and after I had dined from the delicate meat and had picked every bone clean I devoted all the rest of the day to feathering and pointing my arrows. How to carry them was the next question, and here the beaver skin came into mind. I was learning rapidly to think out and to find ways and means, and was acquiring a store of useful knowledge, and I smiled to myself as I thought how far better equipped I was to make my journey out of the woods now than I would have been when first I scrambled out of the river not so many days before.
The beaver’s skin furnished an excellent quiver, or case, for my bow and arrows, with plenty of room for a supply of mussels and fungus, and my fire-bow and drill in addition, and as there was nothing more to detain me here I decided to start on my tramp the next morning.
I ate a plentiful breakfast of fungus and mussels, and then, with the skin filled with my possessions on my back, with pockets bulging with hemlock roots, tendons, bones, and flint, and with a number of mussels and some fungi tied in a bundle in one hand, and my frog-spear in the other, I set out on my long tramp. As I reached a bend of the river and glanced back for a last look at the little lean-to beside the river, I felt as if I was leaving home. The wilderness had been kind to me and I had fared far better than I had dared hope in this spot. As I turned again toward the south and picked my way along the river-bank, little did I dream what fate had in store for me or how many dreary months would pass ere I reached my goal.
CHAPTER V
I GO A-FISHING
All day long I tramped onward, following the course of the river, but frequently entering the woods and trudging through the forest for several miles to avoid impassable portions of the river-bank. Quite frequently the shores rose in steep, rocky bluffs, between which the torrent roared and foamed, while at other times fallen trees, driftwood, and logs made progress along the shore impossible. Many a time that first day of my journey did I have cause for thankfulness that had taken the precaution to learn means for determining the points of the compass, for the knowledge saved me many a weary mile.
Late in the afternoon I made camp at a little cove where the river cut into the woods and where a crystal brook babbled through a fern-grown ravine and gave promise of trout and frogs. My first work was to build a tiny lean-to, and in doing this I saved myself a deal of labor by using dead and fallen branches for the timbers of my shelter instead of cutting them from living trees. I soon started a fire, and then walked up the brook in a search of game. I had expected to find a few frogs or perhaps to obtain some trout, but presently a flock of grouse whirred up from the ferns and alighted on a low spruce a few yards away. It took me but an instant to fit an arrow to my bow and to let it fly at one of the birds. I made a clean miss and, rather chagrined, I tried again. Once more I missed, but the stupid birds remained motionless and not at all frightened by the passing arrows. As I watched them and wondered if it would be possible to approach more closely I remembered the beaver sinews and determined to attempt snaring the grouse. Rapidly forming a noose with one of the fine tendons, I attached it to the butt of my frog-spear and cautiously crept toward the unsuspecting birds. When within reach I slowly pushed the pole forward, and although the grouse craned their necks, moved about a little, and showed some nervousness, they remained upon their perches, and an instant later the noose was slipped over the head of the lowest and with a quick jerk I brought him fluttering to the ground. Even then the other birds did not take flight, and three fine grouse were mine ere the others realized their danger and winged their way to safer quarters. I was greatly elated at my success and dined royally on partridge, and had enough left over for my food for the next day.
As I sat by my fire that evening I thought over my life since the day when I was cast into the river, and, much to my surprise, I found it difficult to fix the days and the sequence of events in my mind. Then for the first time I realized that if I was to keep account of time I must devise some means of recording the days.