“Nary a track,” answered Seth. “They don’t make much, but they’ll come a hundred miles to feast off dead buffalo. They’ll be at the crangs (skinned carcasses) afore two hours more is over.”
And Seth was right; and night was made musical by their howling and growling, fighting and snarling.
On this particular day they had very fine sport indeed; bears principally—not grizzlies—and a few bison. This latter is usually a wild and wary animal, with ten times more sense under his horns than that “bucolic lout” the buffalo; but never having seen man before, they were, as Seth said, “a kind o’ off their guard.” About a dozen wolves followed them at a respectable distance whenever they got trail of a bison. When the hunters advanced the wolves advanced, when the hunters stopped they stopped, generally in a row, and licked their chops and yawned, and tried all they possibly could to look quite unconcerned.
“Never mind us,” they seemed to say. “Take your time; you’ll find the bison by-and-bye, and then we’ll have a bit, but don’t hurry on our account.”
Once or twice Ralph or Allan would take a pot-shot at one of them. This Seth declared was a waste of good powder and lead.
“’Cause,” he added, “their skins aren’t any mortal use for nothin’.”
Towards afternoon they approached a woody ravine, in which the stream they had been following lost itself in a world of green. In here went Master Spunkie first, and came quickly back, mad with excitement and joy. He wagged his tail so quickly you could hardly see it; then his tail seemed to wag him, and he quivered all over like a heather besom bewitched.
“I guess it’s b’ars,” said Seth, and in went Seth next, and then there was a most appalling roaring, that seemed to shake the hills.
“Hough-oa-ah-h!” They might roar as they liked, but Seth’s rifle was telling tales. Crack, crack, went both barrels, and soon after crack, crack, again. This was the signal for our heroes to file in. It was dark, and even cold among the pines—dark, ay, and dangerous. They found that the whole of the little glen, which was of no very great extent, formed the residence of a colony of black bears. They had not gone far before one sprang from under a spruce-tree full tilt at McBain. The brute seemed to repent of the action in the very act of springing, and well for the captain he did. He swerved aside, and was shot not two rifle lengths away. This little incident taught our heroes caution, and the great danger of rushing into spruce thickets, where a wild beast has all the odds against the hunter, being used to the dim light under the cool green boughs. The Skye was in his glory. He had become quite a little adept at leg-biting, and here was a splendid field for the display of his skill, and he certainly made the best of it, for over twenty skins were bagged in less than three hours.
The days were getting short, and even cold, so they had to go early to camp. The skins of the day would be stretched and cleaned, and well rubbed with a composition made by Seth’s own hands. Then they would, at the end of the big shoot, be taken on board and undergo further treatment before being carefully put away in the hold.