And right here it is proper to explain that although the traps had been set and baited, the trappers did not expect any results till later in the season when the "big cold" set in. Nevertheless, in order to guard against the possibility of vicious or unprincipled trappers or "dog Indians" interfering with them, a rigid patrol was necessary to insure the well being of the trap-line. The actual trapping was destined to come later when the wastes of forest to the north were frozen and the creatures of the wild came toward the river in search of food.
Well used to roughing it as the boys were, they carried little more with them on these expeditions than flour, "erbwurst,"—a sort of concentrated soup, not very palatable, but nourishing,—teas, salt and sugar. Their rifles, blankets and canteens completed their loads, with ammunition, of course, sufficient to enable them to "live on the country."
The trap-line led back into a wild range of mountains known as the Frying Pan Range, though just why that name had been given to the section is beyond the present chronicler to explain.
On the particular morning with which we are dealing, we find Tom and Jack almost at the end of the trap-line. Not much to their surprise, their investigation of the fifty or more traps scattered through this territory had not resulted in their discovering any silver foxes ensnared. Other wild creatures, though, had been entrapped, but they were not bothering with these. In every instance, if they were not maimed, the creatures were set loose, with one exception. That was the ugly "glutton" or wolverine, a notorious robber of trappers' and miners' camps, and a savage, truculent animal. When such creatures were found, they were despatched without mercy.
Tom, the first to open his eyes that morning, gave a glance of astonishment as he gazed about him from his blankets. On every side of them was a fleecy blanket of fog as thick and blinding as that which had encompassed them at Kadiak. He awakened Jack and the two looked about them rather anxiously. In pursuit of a deer, the carcass of which hung in a neighboring tree, high up so as to be beyond the reach of wild animals, the boys had, the evening before, wandered rather far from their beaten track.
They had, in fact, been overtaken by night in a part of the mountains which was entirely strange to them. But they felt no apprehensions on that score. They, of course, carried, like all wilderness travelers, a good compass and had the accurate bearings of their camp. The trap-line itself was marked by a blazed trail, so that once upon it their course was as plainly recognized as if they had been on a public highway.
After breakfast, consisting of deer-meat steaks, which when freshly killed are by no means as good as asserted, flap-jacks and tea, well sugared, the two young trappers took earnest counsel as to the best course to pursue.
The fog enwrapped them closely in billowy folds of white. On the mountain top on which they had halted, the mist was peculiarly dense and heavy.
"Well, Jack," said Tom, "we're in cloudland, all right. Are you in favor of waiting till the clouds roll by or striking out for camp?"