“That’s a mighty good string of fish,” he declared, stooping to examine the larger ones. “Say, there’s a dandy; about three pounds. Who got that fellow?”
The boys gave him the full details of the battle, and he listened with interest. While they were talking he opened and cleaned the fish, which gave them a fine woodland feast. When it was over they embarked and floated rapidly down the river toward the lumber camp, which Ben hoped to reach before dark.
The boys thought it strange that they did not see more deer and moose. But it seemed that at that particular season of the year the cow moose and doe deer were hidden deep away in the woods with their young. There they would remain until the little ones were able to follow them about, later in the season.
At the same time the bull moose and the buck deer were growing new horns, having shed the old ones late in the winter. Until these new antlers grew to respectable size the bulls and the bucks remained out of sight as much as possible, as though ashamed of being seen without the formidable weapons which would later adorn their brows.
The boys learned also that when the new antlers begin to form they look like velvety knobs or bumps. These are at first pulpy and tender, and filled with blood. Then they begin to grow into the shape of real horns, and are covered with a moss-like protection, known to woodsmen as “velvet.” Later in the summer, when the new horns have attained full length and hardened, they are rubbed against trees and bushes to free them of this outside covering, which then comes off in long strips, leaving the antlers clean and shiny.
“I’m glad to learn that,” said Ed. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
“I should say so,” replied George, as he thought of the strange wild life of the woods.
“Now then, sit close!” Ben warned, rising in the stern of the canoe, pole in hand. “We’re coming to the first rapids, and they’re mad! Hear them?”
The boys heard a low, indistinct rumbling ahead of them. They noted that the canoe was moving faster, as the rumbling increased to a loud, sullen roar. Before them they saw a long, steep pitch of white-crested water. Great curling waves seemed to beckon them on. And, as if in reply to the challenge, Ben swung his little craft into the middle of the river and sent it boldly on into the clutches of the raging torrent.
Crouching low, their hands grasping the sides of the canoe, Ed and George gazed straight ahead with startled eyes and serious faces. The roar of the angry, white-topped water, the shock from waves which hurled themselves against the canoe and dashed their spray into the faces of its occupants, the danger from submerged boulders and water-logged tree-trunks whose branches, like arms, reached hungrily toward the frail sides of the little craft, the fear of capsizing and being swept to destruction by the swirling waters—all this overwhelmed the lads and kept them silent. A fragile barrier of cedar and canvas, and the alert eye, clear brain, and strong arm of Ben was all that stood between them and destruction. He was equal to the task, however, and with feet well braced, body inclined slightly forward, and the pole tightly clenched in his powerful hands, he stood in the stern of the plunging canoe and guided it safely through that raging inferno into the safe water beyond.