I lost no time in skinning him, and dined off broiled ’coon, which I found excellent. Then I set out for the woods to inspect my snares. Several were untouched, two were sprung but contained nothing, but in another a fine, white hare was dangling.
I cannot express the satisfaction which I felt upon the success of my first day’s trapping, for I realized that I would not want for food where animal life was so plentiful and so unaccustomed to man. I knew also that rabbit and ’coon-skins could be made into the warmest and most comfortable of garments.
I was so much encouraged that I went much farther into the woods, set a number of new snares, and returned by another route to the cabin. This brought me close to my old camp and the border of the lake, and as I came out from the edge of the woods to the shore I heard a strange, subdued chuckling sound from beyond a low, brushy point. Wondering what creature was there, I crawled cautiously forward, peered at the little cove beyond, and looked upon a flock of wild ducks sunning themselves at the edge of the lake where a spring kept the water free from ice.
Fitting an arrow to my bow, I rose silently, but, cautious as I was, the birds caught sight of me and instantly took wing with loud quacks of alarm. In a vague hope of bringing one down I fired, but the arrow fell short, and dropped into the lake beyond my reach, and the ducks safely winged their way toward the farther shores. But I minded the loss of my arrow far more than the loss of the ducks, for I had plenty of meat for my present needs and the weather was now cold enough to enable me to keep a supply on hand for a long time. For several days I spent my time setting traps and skinning and tanning the hides, for each morning I found hares in my twitch-ups, and I also succeeded in capturing another raccoon. The tanned rabbit-skins I sewed into rude mittens and a sort of undershirt, the two ’coon-skins provided leggings, and rabbit-skins were made into a cap. As my feet suffered a great deal from the cold, I lined them with rabbit-skin, with the fur inside, and when all this had been accomplished I found I was perfectly protected from the weather as long as I exercised, while my bear-skin robe made a splendid blanket at night, or served as a cloak when I was sitting still during the days.
About two weeks had now elapsed since the first snowfall, my foot was strong enough so that I could walk upon it without a cane, save on rough ground, and I was well clothed in furs and was quite comfortable, and could look forward without fear to spending the winter in the woods, which now seemed inevitable.
To preserve the supply of meat I had suspended the carcasses of the hares on a pole at one side of the cabin, where they were frozen stiff and out of reach of prowling foxes or other creatures. Each evening I set the deadfall by the door to capture any ’coon or other animal which might approach my hut to pick up scraps from my meals. Just as I was snuggling down beneath my bear-skin robe one night I heard a slight thud outside, and, thinking some creature had sprung the deadfall, I threw off the robe and started to go forth to secure my prize. But ere my feet touched the floor I was riveted to the spot and a cold shiver ran down my spine as the silence of the night was pierced by a terrifying, moaning wail, ending in a blood-curdling scream.
For one long second I sat motionless on the edge of my bunk while that awful sound echoed through the night, then, like a frightened child, I ducked under my bear-skin robe, pulled it over my head, and lay huddled and quaking in superstitious terror. For a space there was silence, then some heavy body landed with a crash upon the roof above my bunk, and the awful, banshee-like wail pealed forth within a few inches of my head. A cold sweat broke from my skin, I shivered with abject fear, my hair seemed to rise upon my scalp, and as the last sobbing note of the terrible sound died out and the awful something began tearing at the roof, my nerves gave way, and I shrieked aloud.
CHAPTER X
BACK TO THE PRIMITIVE
The sound of my own voice was a great relief. Suddenly my foolish terror vanished, and with a sudden reaction of feeling I broke into peals of laughter as I realized that the blood-curdling cry was that of a lynx and not the wail of a banshee or anything supernatural.
No doubt my screams frightened the creature quite as much as his cries had terrorized me, for there was no further sound from the roof and the howling was not repeated.