CHAPTER XV.--THE GRAY WOLVES.
"That's what I heard," exclaimed the Boy at the Valley Farm. "Wolves!Imagine! I didn't suppose they ever came into these woods."
"It's been an unusual winter," his father assured him, stepping out intothe snowy barn-yard. "I saw them once when I was ten years old. But Ithought they had been driven away for good. I suppose the rabbits allfroze, up where they come from, and they got so starved they were drivento it. They've certainly been chasing these deer."
For as their eyes became accustomed to the snowy darkness, they couldonce more see the shadowy forms of Fleet Foot and the fawns by thehay-mow.
"It must have been those wolves that I heard ten minutes back," said theFarmer, rubbing his unmittened hands together.
"Just see how hollow these poor things look!" exclaimed the Boy. "Theymust be starving. Let's go back inside, so they won't be afraid."
They met the Hired Man just starting forth with his gun. "I'm going forthose wolves," he hastened to explain.
"That's more like it," said the Farmer.
Here they were at last, beside the hay-stack, Fleet Foot and her fawns.And as three disappointed howls arose from the woods at their back, thefamished deer turned to snatch their first ravenous mouthfuls frombetween the bars of the crib. They paused in their banquet only longenough to stare at the Hired Man, as with snow-shoes strapped to hisfeet, he strode down the Old Logging Road,--Lop Ear, the Hound, at hisheels.
"Who-o-o-o!" howled the three gray wolves from the blackness of thewoods. The Hired Man raised his thunder-stick and fired--straightbetween a pair of the red eyes that gleamed at him through the night.
"Yoo-o-o-o!" screamed one of the wolves, as he fell, while the cries ofthe other two retreated into the forest. And Whoo Lee, the great barredowl, could have told you that they carried their tails between theirlegs. Their weird voices faded rapidly into the depths of the woods; forwolves travel fast on their round, furry feet, which spread out beneaththem like round snow-shoes.
The Hired Man strode on down the Old Logging Road past the charredtrunks which the forest fire had swept,--standing like white ghosts nowin their snowy mantles,--and on nearly to Lone Lake. But never a sign ofthe gleaming eyes of the two remaining wolves could he see, though hisears shuddered at the weird howls that rang down the wind, and Lop Earbristled and growled.
Fleet Foot and the starving fawns nibbled and nibbled at thehay-mow,--for the time, at least, safe and happy. But could they everget back to the herd-yard, with those wolves still at large?
For once they were in luck. The Hired Man was not the only hunter whofollowed the wolves that night. Old Man Lynx, that fierce, furry fellowwith tassels on his ears and claws that could rend like steel hooks, hadalso been driven down to the Valley by the winter's famine. He, too,heard the howling of the wolves.
He heard the piercing scream of the wolf the Hired Man had shot, and heknew what it meant. The lynx was hungry, for the storms had lasted manydays, and the rabbits and grouse hens hid away where he could not findthem. On his own wide, spreading paws, therefore, he set out over thesnow to find the wolf that had fallen. His heart was glad at theunexpected feast in store, and he whined hungrily under his breath.
Every now and again he had to pause to bite off the icy balls that hadformed under his warm feet. But before ever the Hired Man had turnedback from Lone Lake, Old Man Lynx was peering and sniffing at the wolfthat lay dead.
One thing he did not know, though. No sooner had the two remainingwolves raced to Lone Lake, with their tails between their legs, and theroar of the thunder-stick in their ears, than it occurred to them thatthey were still ravenously hungry. And the one that had fallen would gofar toward easing that terrible emptiness that drew their sides togetherand made them desperate. (For wolves are cannibals!)
So, back the horrid beasts came, running on their furry snow-shoes--backdown the wind, which told the noses of these great wild dogs as plainlyas words that Old Man Lynx was there before them.
"Who-o-o-o," they howled wrathfully, speeding back through theburnt-wood, over whose ghost-like trunks they leapt in the darkness sofast that no Hired Man could have shot them had he tried.
Old Man Lynx raised his whiskered face and yowled an answeringchallenge.
"Ye-ow-w-w!" he screamed at them defiantly. Then he bent his head tosnatch another mouthful of the meat he knew the wolves were on their wayto claim.
"Ye-ow-w-w!" he screamed again, as the wolf cry swept nearer. This timehe saw two pairs of red eyes gleaming in the darkness.
"I got here first, and I'll make it hot for the first one that comeswithin reach of my claws," he warned them, in tones they understoodwithout words.
"We are two to your one!" they answered him.
Little did Old Man Lynx imagine that he had an ally so near. To him itwas merely a case of having found a meal in the wolf the Hired Man hadshot, and of having the rest of the pack demand it of him. So the giantcat took his stand, with claws outspread over the prize, his savage facetense with hate. His green eyes blazed at them through the darkness.
The cowardly wolves paused just out of reach, neither one of them quitedaring to begin the attack, yet willing to fall in, should the other gofirst, for both were wild with hunger.
Old Man Lynx was not afraid. He meant merely to meet each wolf as hecame, and fight him off with tooth and claw--or if worst came to worst,he could climb the nearest tree. For the power to climb is the one greatadvantage that cats have over all members of the dog tribe.
Old Man Lynx himself was lean with famine, for the great storm had madehunting all but impossible for him. Not so much as a wood-mouse hadshown its tracks on the snow for days. And there had been nothing in hisrocky den save the dried and frozen bones of dinners long since past.
To surrender his supper to-night might mean starvation and actual deathto him. But so it did to the wolves. It was to be a fight for life!
Now a lynx's claws are like so many little curved swords of poisonedsteel,--and he had five on each foot. He could dig at a wolf'sunprotected sides with his hind legs while his fore legs were clingingto the throat in which he would try to fasten his fangs.
The gray wolves knew all this, for Old Man Lynx visited the sameCanadian wilds that they had come from. But even so, in another momentthey had taken the leap--together! And there was more lynx fur flyingthan wolf fur--as Whoo Lee, the owl overhead, could have told you.
Just in the nick of time for Old Man Lynx, the Hired Man returned. Whenhe heard the shrill chorus of returning wolves, he had hastened back,his great snow-shoes shuffling their way down the Old Logging Road at aspeed of which he had not known them capable.
He was not thinking of Fleet Foot and the fawns. But with the barn fullof cattle, it would never do to leave such beasts at large in theforest. When he heard Old Man Lynx, however, the Hired Man understoodjust what was going on. He had not lived in the back-woods for nothingall his days. And he decided to draw a little nearer, in the hope ofgetting another shot or two at the great gray terrors from the North.
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CHAPTER XVI.--THE FARMER'S PLAN.
It was thus at the very moment that Old Man Lynx was striking out withbared claws, and the gray wolves were closing in on him both at once,that his unexpected ally reached the scene.
The Hired Man raised his gun, pointing it straight between two gleamingeyes that shone out in the darkness. He had to do it quickly, theyjumped about so fast. Then a shot rang out on the silent night!
It singed a streak across the lynx's flank, but it felled the wolf whosejaws were just about to clamp about his leg. A second shot nicked thetasseled ear of the great cat fighting so desperately. But it singed thefur on the neck of the second wolf, just in time to check him, as hisfangs were finding their way through the thick fur ruff that protectedthe lynx's throat. At this second shot, the wolf, with a howl of terror,tucked his tail between his legs and ran.
The Hired Man hesitated, then d
ecided that the lynx had won the right tolive by his pluck. Thus Old Man Lynx was left, somewhat the worse forthe meeting, but still able to enjoy the rest of his meal; while theHired Man, counting the night well spent, shuffled home on hissnow-shoes. But there was still a gaunt gray wolf at large in theforest--and Fleet Foot and the fawns had still to get back to theherd-yard before morning found them in the haunts of man!
But strange things can happen. No sooner had the lone gray wolf fledfrom the unexpected slaughter than the wind shifted, and he caught anodor most agreeable to his palate. For his gaunt sides were so hollowthat every rib showed. It was an odor he had never before followed up.He had not met it in his Northern wilds, but it smelled porky anddelicious.
It was on the trunk of a wild apple tree that he found the little roundbristly fellow. And he could see, by the gray light of dawn, that hisblack sides bulged with fat, in a winter when all the furry folk werelean and hungry.
That alone was puzzling. But what surprised him even more was that thisqueer fellow showed no sign of fear. He was singing a little song, allin one flat key--"Unk-wunk, unk-wunk, unk-wunk." It was a youngporcupine, one of these prickly fellows so like a tiny bear, only withlong black needles instead of fur. The gray wolf did not know howterrible those needle-like quills can be, when once they get in one'spaw. For they are barbed like a hook on the end, and when they stickinto one, it hurts worse to pull them out than to leave them where theyare. The wood folk that lived around Lone Lake knew enough to leaveUnk-Wunk strictly alone. So, he was never afraid. But the wolf did notknow. And when the little porcupine, instead of climbing higher, out ofhis reach, came lazily back down the trunk and began to gnaw the frozenbark, the wolf thought it was easy game.
Thus, without so much as wondering what made this strange beast sofearless, he leaped open-jawed upon the little porcupine. There was justone howl of agony, as he clamped his jaws on those barbed quills, and itwas not the porcupine who gave it!
Whining and clawing at his tortured mouth, the wolf rolled about in thesnow-drift, choking and spluttering in mingled wrath and terror. ForUnk-Wunk's terrible barbed quills were working deeper and deeper intothe roof of his mouth. Finally he rolled over on them, and they piercedthrough to the brain. That was the last of the great gray wolf that hadcome down out of the North to prey upon the forest folk around theValley Farm.
Unk-Wunk, without in the least realizing that he had done so, hadperformed a public service. And in particular, he had made it safe forFleet Foot and her fawns to go back home to the deer yard in the gray ofthe winter dawn.
"I tell you what," said the Farmer to his son next day. "I've a planthat I think will interest you."
"What is it?" asked the Boy, eagerly.
"Just this: I've plenty of hay this year, (more than enough for thestock,) and I'm going to pitch a little of it out, after this, everytime the storms make it hard for the deer. I declare, I can't bear tothink of their being so starved!" And he gazed thoughtfully out over thedrifting snow, as he thought how Fleet Foot had braved everything toreach their hay-stack.
"Hurray!" shouted the Boy. "May I pitch some out right now? Poor things,there wasn't much they could reach between the bars," and he gazed atthe dainty footprints the fawns had made the night before.
The deep, dry snow was followed by a freeze that left a glistening crustover every drift. Once more Fleet Foot and the rest of the deer couldrun nimbly on their spreading hoofs; and young Frisky Fox and MotherGrouse Hen and Mammy Cotton tail, the brown bunny, could foot their wayacross the white expanse in search of food. For they were sure of atleast a fighting chance of getting home again.
Fleet Foot and the fawns, returning every night to the hay-stack, with alittle band whose sides were as pinched with hunger as their own, nowpassed Old Man Lynx without a fear. For where there was footing thatwould bear their weight, they knew they could outspeed him.
Hereafter the snow might whirl and the spruce trees bend and sway in thewind that wailed through their tops, but the white-tailed deer of thewoods about Mount Olaf were always sure of a little hay to tide themover the month of hunger.
"Father," said the Boy, "I've made a birthday resolution. I am going tobefriend every furred and feathered creature in these woods."
"All of them?" his Father asked. The Hired Man paused in the smoking ofhis traps to listen. "You aren't going to tell us we can't do any moretrapping this winter?"
"You can trap muskrats," said the Boy thoughtfully. "And, of course,wolves, if any more should come. And weasels--the wicked creatures! Theyare only cruel, blood-thirsty ruffians who kill without need, just forthe love of killing."
"What about Old Man Lynx?"
"Well, I know he is not popular. But, after all, he's a good mouser. Andwe must spare our mousers, the fox and the skunk and the big barnowl,--for the mice destroy our grain, and I don't know anything muskratsare good for except their fur. I'm not quite sure about the wild cat,but he doesn't do much harm, does he, as long as there are fish to becaught? And he is a good mouser."
"What about bears?" asked the Hired Man, with one foot on the choppingblock.
"Never do any great amount of harm," returned the Farmer. "They cancatch mice with the best of them. Besides, they're mostly vegetarians.It isn't once in a coon's age you'll find one of these black bears thatwould harm a baby, if you let him alone."
"The deer seem awfully afraid of bears."
"They have a lot more reason for being afraid of men," said the Farmer,eyeing the Hired Man's gun.
"And porcupines? What about porcupines?" asked the latter.
"They mind their own business," spoke up the Boy. "Let them live. You'llhave plenty to do, hunting animals like wolverines and martins and minkand weasels. But don't any one hurt my friends!"
Thus Fleet Foot and her fawns were allowed to live happily on, as seasonfollowed season in the good green woods.
Adventures of Fleet Foot and Her Fawns Page 15
