Far-reaching sounds are these echoes of the woods—some of them very far. Probably there were not five minutes of the day or night when some weird, woodland chatter, scrape, crack, screech, or whistle did not reach the keen ears of that ever-alert dog. That is, three hundred times a day his outer ear submitted to his inner ear some report of things a-doing, which same report was as often for many days disregarded as of no interest or value. But this did not mean that he missed anything; the steady tramp, tramp of their feet, while it dulled all sounds for the hunter, seemed to have no effect on Skookum. Again the raspy squeal of some far tree reached his inmost brain, and his hair rose as he stopped and gave a low “woof.”
The hunters held still; the wise ones always do, when a dog says “Stop!” They waited. After a few minutes it came again—merely the long-drawn creak of a tree bough, wind-rubbed on its neighbour.
And yet, “Woof, woof, woof,” said Skookum, and ran ahead.
“Come back, you little fool!” cried Rolf.
But Skookum had a mind of his own. He trotted ahead, then stopped, paused, and sniffed at something in the snow. The Indian picked it up. It was the pocket jackscrew that every bear trapper carries to set the powerful trap, and without which, indeed, one man cannot manage the springs.
He held it up with “Ugh! Hoag in trouble now.” Clearly the rival trapper had lost this necessary tool.
But the finding was an accident. Skookum pushed on. They came along a draw to a little hollow. The dog, far forward, began barking and angrily baying at something. The men hurried to the scene to find on the snow, fast held in one of those devilish engines called a bear trap—the body of their enemy—Hoag, the trapper, held by a leg, and a hand in the gin he himself had been setting.
A fierce light played on the Indian's face. Rolf was stricken with horror. But even while they contemplated the body, the faint cry was heard again coming from it.
“He's alive; hurry!” cried Rolf. The Indian did not hurry, but he came. He had vowed vengeance at sight; why should he haste to help?
The implacable iron jaws had clutched the trapper by one knee and the right hand. The first thing was to free him. How? No man has power enough to force that spring. But the jackscrew!