The Three Bears of Porcupine Ridge

by Jean M. Thompson

Solomon Lynx was the oldest and almost the last one left of his tribe in the section of Tamarack Ridge. Once they were plentiful enough in the Canadian forests, but they had all disappeared, leaving only Solomon and his family as keeper of the ridge. Each year he and his wild mate raised their family there. Half-way up the side of the mountain lay the ridge, one of the wildest places in that section, covered over by a thick growth of tamarack and mountain hemlocks. At the foot of the ridge, scooped out in a basin between the mountains, lay a small, deep lake, and beyond the lake is Balsam Swamp.

To the small lake the boys come occasionally to fish for trout or catfish, and here, when the deer laws are off, come hunters from afar. Excepting for these rare intrusions, Tamarack Ridge, the lake, and Balsam Swamp, are inhabited only by the wild dwellers of the forest, creatures of feathers and fur.

The den of Solomon the lynx lay concealed in the thick tamaracks, beneath a jutting ledge of rock, the remains of an abandoned lime quarry. Their den was not a pleasant spot; just a deep, dark hole, which runs far under the ledge, from the entrance of which often peered forth Solomon’s crafty face, lighted with yellow eyes which flashed fire upon dark nights. The floor of the den was strewn over with bones, the remains of cruel, snarling feasts, when the whole family fought over the possession of a carcass. Sometimes it would be a young rabbit, a raccoon, or some other timid little wood neighbor, and most of them knew the place of Solomon’s den, and always made a wide détour when possible, not caring to cross his path; so he remained absolute monarch of the ridge.

One day, late in fall, two village boys came into the swamp to set snares for muskrats. They knew about the keeper of Tamarack Ridge and his evil reputation. For often his horrid yell might be heard on the outskirts of the village on moonlight nights, and they knew the lynx was abroad. And sometimes, if hard pressed, Solomon was overbold, and he and his mate even ventured out of the swamp, and carried off lambs from the farmyards, and once even a young calf. So that finally the farmers offered a bounty to any one who would put an end to the old lynx. So the boys had brought along a large steel trap with them, weighing about eighty pounds, strong enough to hold any lynx once he was caught in its great steel teeth. But when the boys came to set the trap they discovered, to their dismay, that some of the steel teeth were so badly worn off that the trap could not be made to catch properly. Finally by stuffing beneath the plate some leaves, they raised it enough to make the teeth meet, and then baiting their trap with a fresh sheep’s head, they hastened away, for it was by that time nearly dark, and they were afraid that the old lynx might even then have been watching them, and might leap down upon them from some overhanging tree, as he had a way of doing when it suited him.

To tell the truth, Solomon had seen the boys, and his curiosity had been aroused as to just what they had been about down on the edge of the lake. From his place of concealment, lying out flat upon the lime ledge just above his den, he had watched and peered at them between the overhanging tamaracks. And then as the boys started to leave, just as a pleasant warning to them, that they might not approach the ridge, he raised his head and sent out, one after another, a series of his blood-curdling, horrid yells, which so terrified the boys that they took to their heels and ran, as fast as they were able, away, away from those awful cries.

That night it was clear and keen, with frost in the air and young ice in the lowlands, so that when Solomon at last leisurely took his way down from the ridge, with strong, sure leaps, he finally came to where the trap was set, and by this time bait, trap, and all were frozen solid. So Solomon had no difficulty about the trap; it could not spring, and he devoured the bait unharmed, tossing the trap far aside in contempt when he had secured the sheep’s head.

As you can well imagine, the boys, when they dared come back to see if their trap had been sprung, and if they had actually caught a lynx, were thoroughly disgusted at the outcome of their well-laid plans, and almost gave up all hope of ever capturing the lynx. All through the winter months, after snowfall, Solomon’s tracks might be found, as they were readily distinguished from those of the foxes and other wild things because Solomon always took long, flying leaps across the snow, leaving a set of deep, round holes wherever his tufted feet struck. More than once his awful yell had been heard upon moonlight nights close to the traveled roads, and many were afraid to venture out late at night because of the lynx, and the little children would whimper and cry, and hide their heads in terror beneath the quilts, when they heard Solomon’s screech in the night.

When early spring came, the boys came again to the lake, this time for the mountain trout, which were running well. They came with a team, intending to camp in the balsams all night, and tethered their horse securely between two rocks, tying him with a double halter that he might not stray. The fish were biting splendidly along about twilight, and the boys were out on a raft some distance from shore. They carried a lantern with a reflector to attract the fish, and were having great sport. They thought about the lynx, but the sport was so keen that they forgot their fears. The trout would make a circuit of the round lake traveling in schools, and when a school of fish came their way, the boys were kept busy with their lines, hauling in trout. Then they would wait idly until the next school came around. During these periods of inactivity the boys were quiet, and a deep stillness settled over everything. Once a loon screeched, and then regularly, over in Balsam Swamp, commenced the old hoot owl’s lonely cry, “Waugh, waugh, waugh, hu, hu-hu, hu,” and then an old settler or a bullfrog “zoom, zoom’d,” over in the marshes.

Then all at once, in the awful stillness which had settled over the lake, came a crashing sound in the spruce bush along shore, close to where the boys had tethered their horse, followed by the well-known, awful yell of the lynx.

“It’s after the horse, perhaps,” suggested one of the boys. Awful thought; they must pull to shore and find out. So, in spite of their own terror, they poled ashore, and when they reached the spot where their horse had been tied he was no longer there, for the animal, terrified out of its senses by the near-by yell of Solomon, had broken his halters and made off. The boys decided then and there that they did not care to remain over night, so one of them took the wagon shafts, while the other boy pushed behind, and they tore down the road toward the village. Half-way down the mountain road they came across their frightened horse, and, minus their fish, finally reached home.