The Timber Treasure

by Frank Lillie Pollock

He hated intensely to do it, yet there seemed no other course. It would be a hard, long tramp besides, lasting more than one day, and he would have to depend on what he could shoot. The best thing would be to acquire some provisions before starting; and he filled the magazine of his rifle from the box of cartridges in his pocket, and started into the woods.

He was eager, besides, to explore a little farther before leaving the place. It was just possible that Uncle Phil’s house was still in the vicinity. The burned building might have been some unused structure; the real place might be farther on. He skirted the old beaver meadow and plunged into the woods—a jungle of small spruces and jack-pine, much of it dead as if attacked by some disease. A hare bobbed out from the thickets, incautiously sat up to look at the intruder, and rolled over the next moment. Tom picked it up and hung it at his belt, reflecting that here was meat for at least one meal.

He listened intently for a possible answer to the echo of his shot, but there was no human sound. Pushing on, he reached the deserted clearing, glanced over the fire ruin again, and went on to examine the roughly cut road he had stumbled into the evening before.

This trail led him out to the bank of the little river, and ended. He followed the stream up some rods. Here and there a tree had been cut at least a year ago, but there were no further signs of settlement, not even a blazed trail. He made a wide circle with a radius of a mile and came back to the clearing, unable to cherish any more hope. This clearing was all the settlement there was.

He looked at it disconsolately. It was untidy and studded with stumps. All around its edges great heaps of logs and brush had been piled up. South of the former house these had burned, and the fire had penetrated for some distance into the woods, probably catching from the dwelling. At the farthest end of the clearing there were about three acres of struggling green, the green of some autumn-planted grain. Other green sprouts showed near the ruin—perhaps the relics of a garden. It was not in the least the sort of homestead he had pictured from his cousins’ descriptions, and he thought rather indignantly of the exaggerated accounts they had given him.

He poked over the rubbish again. The ashes were full of nails and screws, bits of glass, and bits of iron. He picked up the old ax-head, and thought of taking it with him. It would be better than nothing, perhaps, in collecting firewood; but he decided that it was too heavy to carry. He put the torn and stained copy of “Ivanhoe” in his pocket; it would be something to read. Nothing else seemed to be of the slightest value to him.

There was no use in lingering about the place any longer. He turned back irresolutely through the woods, and headed toward the river. Ricks of dead driftwood were piled along its rocky banks. A couple of swimming muskrats dived in a circle of ripples as he came up. Tom paused, and as he stood there a lithe black form popped up between two logs within twenty yards.

It was a mink, and a large one. Almost instinctively he put up his rifle and drew a bead on the little fur-bearer’s head. It was broadside to him, but it was a small mark to hit at that distance, and a bullet anywhere but in the head would ruin the pelt. He aimed long, expecting it to dodge away, but it vanished only at the report.

He hardly hoped to have hit, but he found it on the other side of the log, almost decapitated. It was a nearly black pelt and in prime condition. If it had been trapped it might have been worth twenty dollars, but the mangled head would reduce its value. He carefully wiped the fur, however, and skinned the animal, reflecting that this would help pay the expenses of his ill-starred venture.

He rolled up the skin temporarily and put it in his pocket, till he should have time to stretch it, and continued his way down the stream. There were plenty of traces of fur everywhere. He saw several more muskrats though no more of the shy minks. But the signs showed that there were minks there in abundance, and there were probably martins in the woods, foxes, skunks, and perhaps sables and fishers. Dave had said that there was plenty of fur in the district, and he had been right in this, at any rate.