CHAPTER X
A DEATH-TRAP
"Wake up! Do you want to sleep all your senses away?"
It seemed but an hour after the tired boys had laid down their headsthat the above words were bellowed through the opening in the tent.
Bob sat up and rubbed his eyes.
Yes, it was really morning. There was no doubt about that, for the sunwas pouring into the tent in a warm stream, the birds were filling thewoods with music, and the perfume of Nature was creeping all aroundthem.
One entire end of the tent had been thrown open to reveal thesedelights, and when Arnold opened his eyes he saw the gigantic figure ofhis Scottish host doing its best to fill the space. There was agood-humoured smile on the man's face--a smile that betokened a heart ofthe largest dimensions.
Bob soon roused his chum, who was buried in a blanket.
"What's the matter?" questioned the latter, as he unrolled from thecoverings.
"Can you not smell it?" demanded Mackintosh.
"Fried bacon and coffee--yes--ripping!" was the reply as Alf began tomove, being inspired to haste by the odour that proceeded from thecamp-fire beyond the tent, where Haggis was busy cooking.
Mackintosh gave a snort of assumed contempt.
"Bacon and coffee! Who thinks o' bacon and coffee on a morning likethis? Fegs! but have you no' ears for the birds, nor nostrils for thescents of Nature? Man, but I'd sooner have a sniff o' the backwoods----"
"Than a mouthful of bacon? Not I," chimed in Alf merrily, at which theman laughed heartily as he turned on his heel.
"I'm thinking that there's very little poetry in a hungry stomach," hesaid. "Well, 'get a gait on.' You'll find a wash-hand basin behind thetent, and breakfast'll be ready when you are."
The boys needed no second bidding, and it was not many minutes beforethey were ready to show how well they could appreciate the half-breed'sculinary art.
While the lads were breakfasting, Mackintosh and Haggis busiedthemselves with striking the tent and packing the rest of the campoutfit upon the single pack-horse that accompanied the naturalist'swanderings. The two men had already fed at an earlier hour, and hadstowed away most of their belongings in preparation for the journey.
"We'll be making straight for the Silver Lake, where the hanky wasfound," explained Mackintosh as they set off. "Haggis'll maybe pick uptracks there that'll be o' use to us." And so a northerly route wastaken--crossing an arm of the Athabasca, and then following a coursethrough the woods under the unerring guidance of the half-breed.
Towards noon the Scotsman called a halt, as he pointed to a smallclearing through which ran a small stream of clear water.
"This'll no' be a bad place for us to eat our dinner, lads," he said."If you'll unpack the mare and tether her, Haggis, we can see aboot thefire and the meat."
"Don't you think it would be well if we were to shoot something?"suggested Bob. "You see, we don't know where we may have to go yet, andgame may be scarce. There seemed to be any amount of it on the way here.It would be as well to save what we have in hand."
"A good thought," returned Mackintosh approvingly. "Let's see what thepair o' you can do wi' your guns while Haggis and I are setting thingsto rights."
"I'll go one way and you the other, Bob, and see which of us will havethe best bag in half an hour!" said Alf, with the eager delight of afriendly competition in prospect.
"Right you are," agreed Arnold heartily, "You go to the right; I'll takethe left, and in half an hour we'll meet again at the camp and comparenotes."
With a few words of friendly chaffing as to which would be the moresuccessful, the chums parted. Each was determined that his gun shouldprove a superior Nimrod's skill, and both were stirred to high spiritsby the excitement of the quest.
It must not be a matter for surprise that the boys could take suchpleasure in the diversions of the moment, even recollecting the seriousnature of the mission on which they had embarked with the originalSkipper Mackintosh. The truth was that, once having been convinced thatthe absent men were indeed alive, the weight of anxiety was greatlylifted by that knowledge. As we are already aware, their fathers weremen who had had many a backwoods adventure in their youth. They werewell capable of taking care of themselves according to the circumstancesin which they were placed. Hence the chief anxiety now was to hasten ameeting, when they would learn aright the cause of the elders' absence;and, though they could not conjecture what that cause could be, theyfelt assured that accident (in the ordinary sense of the word) was notthe reason. Ordinary accidents of the hunt were not likely to meet twosuch experienced sportsmen at one time; and if one had suffered theother would have found means to communicate the fact ere this. The boysfelt assured that to some other cause the matter must be attributed, andso they were fairly at ease in their minds, though, of course, anxiousto hasten the time when the mystery would be explained.
Thus it was that when the opportunity occurred for this diversion inthe form of a little friendly rivalry, each set off in the highest ofspirits.
Holden at once plunged into the thickest part of the bush at the back ofthe little camp-ground. Arnold decided to follow the downward course ofthe stream, in the hope that it might lead to a lake or pool where duckmight fall to his lot.
Pushing his way through the scrub that bordered the running water, Bobwent some distance without any success. Then he heard the sound of a gunsome way to the rear, and he smiled to himself, as he thought that hischum had already commenced operations.
Spurred on by the thought, the boy hastened his steps, and increased hisvigilant scrutiny of the bush for the first signs of game. But luck didnot come his way for some time, and his anxiety not to be beaten in thecontest led his feet farther than the half-hour's limit merited.
It was not until he had tramped a mile or more that Bob realised howquickly the time had passed. It was disappointing to have to returnempty-handed to the camp, especially since he had heard Alf's gun cracktwice again. At the same time, if there were no creatures to be shot, hecould not be reproached for his lack of success.
With a rueful grimace and a laugh of amusement at his own failure, theboy was just turning to retrace his steps, when suddenly the bushrustled at his side, and a brown body leapt into the air as if it hadbeen shot from a catapult.
"Antelope!" Bob exclaimed with delight, and quick as a flash of lightthe butt of his gun darted to his shoulder and the woods resounded withthe explosion of a cartridge.
It was a quick aim and not too good, for the animal disappeared in thefarther bush, and the cracking of twigs told the young hunter that thequarry was yet active.
"This is worth waiting for," said Bob to himself, as he rushed forwardin pursuit. "A dozen of Alf's prairie chicken will not be equal to anantelope--if I get him!"
There was much in that little "if," for evidently the deer was far frombeing disabled, since it had so rapidly made distance between itself andthe hunter.
Nothing daunted, Bob hurried on, replacing the used cartridge as he ran,and easily following the tracks that the animal had made in its dash forliberty.
Bob's pulses were thrilling with excitement, but his nerves were thereal hunter's nerves that can be steady even when excitement runshighest. He gripped his gun firmly, and with eyes scaled to see eachtremor of a leaf he followed the track with the dogged purpose of onewho meant to capture.
Time and distance were unheeded now. All the boy's senses were convergedtowards one aim, and for the time being he was oblivious to all otherdistractions. Suddenly he stopped in the very midst of a pace, as if hewere suddenly changed into a statue of marble; for at no great distance,he saw the deer standing at the edge of what seemed to be a naturalpaddock of green grass. The animal had paused in its flight, and was nowsniffing the air with head raised, to discover if it were still pursued.
It was worth gun-shot.
Cautiously Bob raised his weapon without even moving from the strainedposition in which he had stopped at first glimpse of the game. It wouldbe
useless for him to approach closer, for the least disturbance of thebush would be discovered, and a few leaps would carry the deer acrossthat stretch of green turf, and thence--probably beyond all chance ofrecovery.
Bob took a careful sight this time. Then he fired. Instantly the deersprang upwards into the air, gave two marvellous leaps forward, and thenfell in a lifeless heap right in the centre of the paddock.
Bob gave a cry of exultation and ran forwards towards his bag. Soexcited was he now that he did not notice how the turf shivered underhis feet when first he stepped upon the edge of the clearing. He had nothoughts for aught else but the triumph of his stalking. But suddenly,when he was within a few yards of the deer, he felt one foot sinkbeneath him. For a moment he did not give the incident any seriousthought, but placed his other foot a little beyond, where the turfseemed firmer. But the next step sunk deeper than the first, and at eacheffort to release the one the other sunk farther.
Then a cold sweat broke out all over the lad's body. He realised theplight that he was in, for the green sward was no more than a thincovering of turf that concealed a great muskeg--a lake of liquid mudsuch as has been known to swallow men, horses--nay, even a herd ofbuffalo, without leaving a trace of the hapless victims that havedisappeared within that ever-hungry throat.
Bob stood still in horror at his terrible discovery.
He looked round him. There was not a sign of anything that might aidhim--not a log, not so much as a twig. Nothing was at hand but the grassthat a moment before had looked so fresh and alluring, but which nowseemed to suggest all that was ugly and treacherous. Even the slain deerwas already beginning to yield to the suction from beneath.
If ever Bob was near to utter despair, it was at that moment. He wasover the ankles in mud, and he could feel himself gradually sinking,while the slimy mass seemed to cling to his limbs and drag him downwardswith irresistible force.
Once he thought that he might be safer if he lay upon his face, but hequickly banished that suggestion when he saw that the prostrate positionof the deer did not impede its certain destruction. He scarce dared tobreathe, since every movement of a muscle hastened the work of themuskeg.
Down, down he sank. The mud crept to his knees and gradually began toascend his thighs.
It seemed to be only a matter of time--another hour, perhaps less--andthe tragedy would end.
Yet he tried to be brave. He tried to brace himself to face the triallike a man, though it is hardly to be wondered at that he felt hopequickly leaving him, as inch by inch he sunk into that horrible greendeath-trap.
Then, just as suddenly as if a voice had spoken to him from the verygrass at his feet, there flashed into his mind the words that the goodold Scot had spoken by the camp-fire the previous night--
"There's a Hand that could guide the frailest birch-bark throughNiagara."
Bob remembered, and hope sprang up in his heart with a bright-burningflame. Yet his faith was severely tested, as the mud crept up, up--nowto his hips, then slowly advancing beyond his waist, until at last itwas embracing his chest in a cold grip.
The Fiery Totem Page 10
