Frank in the Woods

by Harry Castlemon

The turkey was equally divided between master and dog; and as neither had eaten any dinner, not a vestige of the fowl was left. While Frank was building his camp, he had heard a faint ripple, like the noise of a small water-fall; and he was somewhat surprised thereat, for the intensely cold weather had formed ice, even in the swiftest water, almost two feet in thickness. As soon as he had finished his supper, he started out to see what had occasioned the noise, taking the trap with him, intending to find a good place to set it. When he arrived at the stream, he found it had its source in a salt spring, or, as the hunters would call it, a “deer-lick.” The snow on the banks was trodden as hard as a floor, and the paths that the animals had made, in going to and from the stream, ran up into the woods in all directions. These springs are favorite resorts of deer and other wild animals, which delight to taste their brackish waters; and it is a common way of killing deer, in places where they are scarce, to watch one of these “licks” during the night, and shoot the animals as they approach.

Frank walked up one of the paths that led to the spring, and began to make preparations to set his trap. It was just the place for it, as he would be certain to catch something before morning. He first dug a hole with his hunting-knife, directly in the middle of the path, and the next job was to set the trap. He knew how it ought to be done. But the powerful jaws of the “Ole Settler” had often resisted the efforts of a stronger person than himself. After half an hour’s work, during which time the skirts of his coat had been cut almost entirely off by the long, sharp teeth, he succeeded in getting it set, and placed safely in the hole which he had dug for its reception. Then, with his hunting-knife, he cut down a good-sized sapling that stood near, and to this he fastened one end of a short, heavy chain; the other end of the chain he fastened to the trap. After he had placed every thing to his satisfaction, he carefully covered the trap and chain with snow, removed all the twigs and leaves he had scattered about, and returned to his camp. He employed himself until dark in gathering his evening’s supply of fire-wood, and then lay down on his bed of boughs, well satisfied with his day’s work.

As it grew dark, it seemed to him that his camp became the center of attraction to every wild animal in the woods for a circle of ten miles around. The owl flew down around his fire, uttering his dismal scream; the barking of foxes was heard in all directions; and, now and then, a dark object would come out of the bushes, and gaze at him a moment with eyes that shone through the darkness like coals of fire, and then beat a hasty retreat. Once or twice he heard a sound that made him reach, rather hurriedly, for his gun—the same sound that the trapper, the night before, had pronounced the “sniff of a painter.”

Frank did not feel exactly safe in going to sleep, and sat for a long time with his gun in his hand. Several times he was half inclined to shoot at some of the animals that came around the camp; but he finally concluded to keep the peace as long as they would. In a few moments after he had made this resolution, he sank back on his blanket, and was soon fast asleep.

Near midnight he was awakened by a chorus of loud yells. Starting up, he found his camp surrounded by wolves. The fire had almost gone out, and the wolves appeared to be growing bolder by degrees, having already approached quite close to the cabin. Frank started to his feet and threw a firebrand among them, when they scattered in every direction, and were out of sight in a moment. He was not disturbed again, and when he awoke it was daylight. After putting a good supply of wood on the fire, and hanging his coffee-pot on the crane, he shouldered his gun, and started toward the place where the trap had been set, hoping to find something in it that would make a breakfast for him.

There was something in it, beyond a doubt, for both trap and clog were gone; and the way Brave growled and showed his teeth led him to believe that he had caught something besides a deer. The hole in which he had placed the trap was trodden down as though a flock of sheep had passed over it. It was a matter of some difficulty to follow the trail of the animal that had been caught in the trap, for he had moved directly up the path, and the only “sign” that Frank had to guide him was, now and then, a slight scraping in the snow, which he knew had been made by the clog, as the animal dragged it after him. He followed the trail in this manner for nearly half a mile, when it suddenly turned off into the woods, where he could follow it up considerably faster. Here he discovered that there was a bear in the trap, for the prints of his great feet were in the snow. His progress had evidently been retarded a good deal, for, at intervals along the trail, the broken bushes and trodden snow showed where the clog had caught and held him fast.

Brave led the way, but they had not gone far before he began to show signs of uneasiness. A little further on, he suddenly came to a halt, and stood gazing steadily before him, toward a thicket of bushes, that looked as though it would afford a splendid hiding-place for a wild animal.

Frank began to be excited now, and his hand was none of the steadiest as he cocked his gun and stooped down to caress his dog. He had faced the wounded panther without flinching, but he did not like the idea of attacking that bear in his den, for such it undoubtedly was, as under an immense pile of limbs and bushes Frank could see something dark, that looked like a cave.

Brave ran around the bushes, with every hair on his body sticking toward his head, and now and then making a dash at the den, as though challenging the bear to come out. But the cave was as silent as death. Frank could not see how he could attack the bear in there, and the question was, how to get him out into open ground, so that he could have a fair shot at him, and a good opportunity to retreat, if that shot should not prove fatal. After waiting nearly half an hour for the bear to come out and give them battle, Frank grew impatient, and determined to commence fight himself. Grasping his gun firmly in one hand, he set to work with his hunting-knife to cut a passage through the bushes, so that he could get a fair view of the mouth of the cave.

While thus employed, he heard a slight rustling of leaves in the den, accompanied by a low, wailing cry, and followed by a hoarse growl. He bravely stood his ground, holding his gun in readiness; but, as the bear did not come out, Frank went on with his work, more determined than ever to effect the destruction of the animal, for that wailing noise was the cry of a cub, which he was determined to have. He knew that this would be no boy’s play, for, of course, the old bear must be killed before he could venture down into the cave. He was also well aware that she would fight for her young with a ferocity and stubbornness, against which only the most determined courage and a steady hand and quick eye could avail. He had heard Uncle Joe relate a story of a man, and one not wanting in courage either, who, upon discovering a couple of young bears playing together in the woods, had shouldered his rifle and made for home at the top of his speed. The least cry from one of those clumsy little fellows would have brought upon him an enemy that the bravest hunter would not care to encounter.