Stratemeyer Edward
The Gun Club Boys of Lakeport
CHAPTER XXIV
A BATTLE WITH A WOLVERENE
All of the young hunters listened to Joel Runnell’s words with deep interest.
“An animal took the meat?” questioned Joe. “What sort of an animal?”
“Unless I am greatly mistaken, lad, it was a wolverene.”
“A wolverene!” cried several in chorus.
“Oh, do you think it was really a wolverene?” came from Link. “Why, they are very fierce, aren’t they?”
“About as fierce a beast as you can bring down in these parts, Link, and just about as hard to track, too.”
“I’ve never seen a live wolverene,” came from Harry. “I saw a dead one once at my father’s store – Jerry Daley brought it down. It was about as long as a wolf, but a good deal heavier, and was black, with a lightish streak running around each side toward the tail. It had a sort of cat head, with the ears laid low, and an awful savage looking mouth.”
“Yes, and Jerry Daley was almost killed by the beast, too,” put in Joe. “It ripped up his arm and gave him a fearful scratch on one knee. Jerry put two bullets into it and then cut its throat with his hunting knife.”
“I’ve heard a lot of stories about wolverenes,” said Fred. “A good many hunters fight shy of them.”
“And the wolverenes fight shy of the hunters,” put in old Runnell. “Can’t blame ’em either.”
“Maybe we had better not go after this beast,” put in Teddy. “I don’t want to be chewed up.”
“Oh, yes, let us go after him,” came from Bart. “I’m not afraid. Remember, he stole our deer meat.”
“Better let that meat go,” went on Teddy.
“Oh, I don’t want to eat the meat after a wolverene has chewed on it,” added Bart. “But we ought to teach the beast a lesson.”
“Wolverenes are great for stealing hunters’ meat,” said Joel Runnell. “And not only that, they soon learn how to get at rabbits and other animals that have been trapped. I once heard tell of how a hunter went out to look at his traps and he discovered a wolverene watching ’em. He kept out of sight, and pretty soon a rabbit got into one of the traps. As soon as the rabbit was a prisoner, Mr. Wolverene came out of hiding and pulled the rabbit out of the trap, and just then the hunter killed the beast.”
The matter was talked over, and it was decided that two of the boys should go with old Runnell after the wolverene. Lots were cast, and the choice fell upon Joe and Bart.
“Bart, that ought to suit you,” said Fred.
“And it does,” was the quick answer.
“It suits me, too,” came from Joe. “Sorry you can’t go, Harry,” he added to his brother.
“Well, such is luck,” was the reply. “Perhaps next time I’ll go and you’ll have to stay home.”
A hasty lunch was had, and in less than half an hour old Runnell, Bart, and Joe were on the way.
The track of the wolverene was plainly to be seen, and they followed it with ease over the rocks where the wind had blown a good deal of the snow away.
“Are your guns ready for use?” questioned old Runnell. “It may be that we may fall in with some other kind of game besides the wolverene.”
The weapons were in proper condition and both were held in such a fashion that they could do no harm as the party traveled along. They had now to enter the woods, with thick pines on one side and a variety of small hemlocks and scrub bushes on the other. They were going uphill, and walking at every step became more difficult.
“Here are the marks very plainly,” said Joe. “The wolverene got tired of carrying the meat and dragged it.”
“Make no more noise,” said Joel Runnell. “We may be closer to the beast nor you think.”
After that they proceeded in utter silence. The trail led around a number of pointed rocks and then among the pines.
Suddenly Joel Runnell came to a halt and motioned for the others to do likewise. Looking ahead, Joe and Bart saw a spot where the snow was much disturbed, and there lay the best part of the deer meat which had been stolen.
Crouching low, Joel Runnell began to look in among the pine trees, for he felt certain that the beast he was after could not be far away. Evidently the wolverene had been disturbed while devouring a portion of the game and had leaped out of sight among the pine branches.
The wolverene is well called the glutton, for it loves to gorge itself upon any meat which it can obtain. When it has such meat in its possession to give it up is almost out of the question, and it becomes maddened to the last degree.
All this Joel Runnell knew, and he also knew that if he advanced to where the meat was lying more than likely the wolverene would leap upon him.
But it was not the old hunter who first caught sight of the beast. Happening to glance over his shoulder Bart saw a sight which filled him with sudden terror. The wolverene was there, in a high branch, ready to leap down upon his head!
“Oh!” yelled the boy, and then, more by instinct than reason, he swung his gun around and fired. The firearm held a fair charge of shot, and this took the wolverene partly in the breast and left foreleg. There was a fierce snarl, and down came the powerful creature at Bart’s very feet.
As the wolverene landed both Joe and old Runnell wheeled around. The latter would have fired, but Joe was in his way.
“Look out, boys!” yelled the old hunter. “Back for your lives!”
He spoke none too soon, for the wolverene was now ready for a second leap. Bart sprang back, and the beast caught sight of Joe, who was trying to get a shot.
Bang! went Joe’s weapon, but the wolverene leaped as he fired, and all that was hit of the creature was the bushy tail, which was knocked completely to pieces at such close range.
Dazed and bewildered, the wolverene now backed to the nearest tree, and leaped out of sight among the low-hanging branches. The pain of its wounds made it snarl and growl viciously, and had it been able to reach one or another of the hunters it might have done great damage.
“Look out,” cried Bart. “Guess he’s trying to come up behind us.”
“I’ve got my eye on him now,” answered Joel Runnell. “Both of you stay where you are, and reload.”
Neither had thought of reloading, but now they did so with all possible speed. In the meanwhile Joel Runnell was moving down among the pines. They listened and heard the wolverene make a leap from one branch to another, then all became suddenly silent.
“Oh, I hope Runnell don’t get hurt,” muttered Bart.
There followed a short spell of silence, and then the firearm of the old hunter rang out. The report was followed by a cat-like screech, loud and of short duration. Then from one limb to another tumbled the wolverene, striking the ground with a whirl and sending the snow flying in all directions. But the shot was a fatal one, and in a few minutes the savage beast gave a shudder, stiffened out, and lay still.
“Is he – he dead?” asked Bart, almost in a whisper.
“Dead as a door nail, boys,” answered Joel Runnell. “He was a fighter right enough, wasn’t he?”
“I never want to go after another wolverene,” declared Joe.
“You are right; one is enough,” returned Bart. For once his face was strangely white.
“What shall we do with the animal?” went on Joe.
“May as well keep the hide,” answered the old hunter. “That will pay us back for our deer meat. You can make a mat of it when you get home.”
“I believe now some of the stories I have heard about wolverenes,” declared Bart. “Why, this creature is about as bad to meet as a bear.”
“Worse than some bears.”
“Do you boys know what the wolverene is sometimes called?” asked the old hunter.
“I don’t know. What?” asked Joe.
“The skunk bear, on account of its peculiar colorings. Yes, after this, fight shy of wolverenes if you can help it.”
CHAPTER XXV
TEDDY EVENS THE SCORE
“You must have had a close call,” said Harry, when the others returned to the camp and told their story. “I am mighty glad that wolverene didn’t get a chance at me.”
“Sure an’ if I see wan of them bastes I’ll run for me life,” came from Teddy. “It’s worse nor a – a tiger they must be.”
“Worse than Injuns, Teddy,” said Link, dryly.
“Ah! Go run after your own shadow,” growled Teddy, in deep disgust. And then, as he turned away there was a merry twinkle in his eyes. “Sure an’ I’ll fix ’em to-night,” he murmured to himself.
Link and Harry had employed their spare time in making for themselves two pillows of pine needles. This was easy, for they had brought along some bags for nuts and had merely to fill these and then sew up the open ends.
Watching his chance, Teddy got hold of the two pillows and also the box containing pepper. Into each pillow he poured some pepper and also sprinkled the outside liberally.
It had been decided that an early start should be made the next morning in a search for the three tramps, and Joel Runnell advised that all hands turn in early.
“I’m willing,” said Fred, and was the first to lie down and go to sleep. Then the fire was fixed for the night and the others followed his example.
The silence in the shelter did not last long. Suddenly Link gave a terrific sneeze and Harry followed suit.
“Boys, get out of the draught or you’ll take cold,” came from Joel Runnell.
“I’m not in any – ker-chew! – draught,” answered Harry.
“I am – ker-chew – I think – ker-chew – ” spluttered Link, and ended with a series of sneezes that brought all in the shelter to a sitting position.
“Hullo, what’s the matter?” sang out Bart.
“I-ker-chew! I think I’ve got the – ker-chew!” spluttered Harry.
“I think so myself,” went on Bart. “Got ’em bad, too.”
“Ker-chew!” exploded Link. “Ker-chew! Oh, my! Ker-chew!”
“Well, I never,” came from Fred. “Is this a sneezing match?”
“I’ll bet on the feller that wins,” piped up Teddy. “Now then, both start together.”
“Ker-chew!” began Link.
“Ker-chew!” came from Harry, directly afterwards.
“Didn’t start together,” went on Teddy, calmly. “Try it over again and see – ”
“Ker-chew!” came from both.
“Teddy Dugan, did you – ker-chew!” began Harry.
“No, I didn’t ker-chew,” answered the Irish lad, with a wink at the others. “I don’t chew at all. My father won’t let me use tobacco, and so I – ”
“Ker-chew!” broke in both of the sufferers.
“This is certainly queer,” said Joel Runnell, seriously. “What set you to sneezing?”
“Perhaps they tickled their noses wid straws,” suggested the irrepressible Teddy.
“I – I – ker-chew! – think there is pepper on my – ker-chew! – pillow,” spluttered Link.
Harry caught up his pillow and smelt of it.
“Sure as you – ker-chew! ker-chew! – are born,” he cried. “Now, who did this?”
He and Link looked at first one and then another of the party. All but Teddy looked perplexed. The twinkle in the Irish lad’s eyes was brighter than ever.
“Teddy Dugan, you did – ker-chew – this?” stormed Link, and made a dive for him.
“It’s snazin’ Injuns ye are now,” returned Teddy.
“Oh, I’ll fix you for this!” roared Harry, and catching up his pillow he hurled it at the Irish boy’s head. Link did the same, and down went Teddy flat on his back.
“Oh, stop!” he yelled. “I – ker-chew! Oh! Oh!”
He threw one of the pillows at Link. It struck Joe instead, and Joe sent it at Fred. Then the stout lad hurled it into the crowd. But it sailed too high, struck the fire, and the pillow burst open.
“Hi! hi!” called out Joel Runnell. “Take that out of the fire!”
“Can’t – it’s bursted,” answered Joe. He bent forward over the blaze. “Oh, what a smell! Ker-chew!”
The pepper was now burning, and the smell speedily became so strong that everybody had to sneeze and rush for the doorway. Into the open tumbled the boys, one on top of the other.
“Watch out; the shelter may get on fire!” said Fred.
“Oh, don’t say that,” groaned Teddy, becoming frightened on the spot. “Sure an’ I didn’t mane to carry the joke so far.”
“Then you did do it after all?” murmured Fred. “Well, it was a good joke all right enough.”
From the doorway Joel Runnell watched the progress of the fire. The pine needles soon died out, and the camp-fire became as before. But it was some time before they could stand the smell of the burnt pepper. The unburnt pillow was thrown out into the snow.
“It was only to git square for the Indian trick,” said Teddy. “Won’t you call it off now?”
“Yes, Teddy,” said Harry, promptly, and shook hands, and then Link did the same.
All would have overslept on the following morning had not old Runnell called them up ere it was daylight. He had already started the breakfast, and soon some of the others were helping him.
“Oh, must I get up so soon,” sighed Harry. “I could sleep three hours more.”
“No lazybones in this camp, young man,” cried Joe. “Remember, we are going to try to locate those tramps.”
It was a perfect day, with the sun shining brightly over the long stretches of ice and snow. There was no wind, and on every side all was as silent as a tomb, saving for the occasional cry of a winter bird, or the distant barking of a fox.
“This is genuine life in the open,” said Joe. “I tell you what, boys, we couldn’t have a finer outing.”
“I must try for some more pictures,” said Harry, and before he left the camp he loaded his camera with films, so that he would be prepared to “shoot” whatever struck his fancy.
From Teddy they had obtained all the information possible concerning the three tramps, and as soon as they were well on the road to the shore Joel Runnell allowed Teddy to go in the lead.
“Mind ye, I don’t say I can spot the rascals,” said the Irish lad. “But I’ll do me best.”
“That is all anybody can do, Teddy,” answered Joe. “Even if we don’t catch ’em it won’t be such a terrible disappointment, although I’d like to see the fellows brought to justice.”
“They ought to be brought to justice,” put in old Runnell. “Nobody in these parts will be safe with such rascals at large.”
“I wonder what has become of Dan Marcy and Hiram Skeetles,” mused Harry. “It’s a wonder they are not watching us, isn’t it?”
“Guess the cold snap was too much for them,” answered Fred. “I don’t believe old Skeetles cares much for an outing anyway. He’d rather stay in town and make money.”
“I’ve heard that he has been very mean to a great many persons,” said Link. “There was one old Irish washerwoman that owed him ten or fifteen dollars and he pestered the life out of her trying to get it.”
“That’s right,” came from Teddy. “It was the Widdy O’Rourke, an’ my folks and a lot of others made up a purse for her, so she could buy a railroad ticket to Caleville, where her married daughter lives. The daughter was too poor to pay for the ticket, but she wrote that if her mother would come on she would do the best she could to give her a home.”
“And did old Skeetles get the ten or fifteen dollars?” asked Bart.
“Sure he did. He wouldn’t let her leave town till she had paid. Oh, he’s a skinflint, he is,” concluded Teddy.
CHAPTER XXVI
THE HOUSE IN THE WOODS
They reached the shore at a point where a long stretch of pines bent down heavily with their weight of snow. The scene was so beautiful that Harry stopped long enough to get two time exposure pictures, using very small stops, so that the outlines might be extra sharp.
“There must be a whole lot about photography,” observed old Runnell. “Those men that are in the business take fine pictures without half trying, while on the other hand I’ve been out with amateurs, as they called themselves, and they’d take picture after picture, but none of ’em seemed to amount to much. Some would be crooked, some wouldn’t be sharp and clear enough, and some would be printed too light or too dark.”
“Well, I just guess there is a good deal about it,” came from Bart. “I have a cousin who is learning the business in Boston, and he writes that I can’t imagine how many details there are. First one must have the right light and shade and the proper focus, and then, after the picture is taken, the plate has got to be developed just so, to bring out the negative to its best point, and then one must take great care in printing the paper. He tells me that sometimes a single drop of a certain kind of chemical will spoil everything.”
“Reckon, lad, it’s a good bit like hunting, after all,” said old Runnell. “Some folks think they can put a gun over their shoulder, run to the forest, and shoot down jest what they want to. Well, they can’t at all – you know that already. They have got to learn to shoot straight, and keep cool, and have lots of patience, and then they have got to learn about the habits of their game.”
“And some folks never become good hunters any more than they can become good photographers,” said Joe. “I guess one has got to have a strong fancy for it, in the first place.”
“Yes, and a strong fancy for anything that he really wants to succeed in,” said Joel Runnell.
When they went into a temporary camp for dinner Harry took a picture of the group, and then Joe took another, with Harry in the middle, holding a coffee pot in his hand. Nearly every young hunter had something – a gun, or a hatchet, or some kitchen utensil, and this photograph caused a great deal of laughter when it was shown around after they got home.
By moving slowly along the shore, and making a close examination of every sheet and drift of snow, Joel Runnell at last found the tracks of three persons who had come from the lake. The tracks were those made by three pairs of boots or shoes of good size.
“Those must be the tramps’ tracks,” declared Joe. “Teddy was right; they came almost directly across from the opposite shore.”
“And now the question is, How far have they gone since they crossed the lake?” put in Harry.
“That’s the worst of it,” said Fred. “For all we know, they may be miles and miles away from here by this time.”
“Tramps are great for stealing rides on freight trains,” ventured Bart. “How far is the railroad from this point?”
“At least four miles,” answered Joel Runnell, “and a very rough road at that. The nearest station is six miles. They couldn’t very well board a freight train that was moving.”
“I don’t believe tramps like to ride much in such freezing weather,” came from Link. “More than likely they have found some sort of a hangout around here, and are living off of what they can pick up, by honest or dishonest means.”
The matter was discussed for a short while, and it was concluded to follow up the footprints until nightfall if no longer.
“We may run across them sooner nor you expect,” said old Runnell.
The tracks led directly through the woods and then toward a rise of rocks which was swept almost clear of snow. Beyond the rocks was level ground, and here was a country road, connecting two small villages of that vicinity with Lakeport.
“We’re getting into civilization,” said Joe. “This feels almost as if we were going home.”
“I don’t want to go home yet,” said Harry.
“Nor I,” came in a chorus from the others.
The tracks led along the roadway for perhaps half a mile, and then turned still further from the lake.
“Well, I declare!” cried Joel Runnell. “Wonder if those chaps went over to Ike Slosson’s house.”
“Where is that?” asked Fred.
“About half a mile from here.”
“Who is Ike Slosson?” asked Link.
“He is a very peculiar man, who lives by himself up in yonder woods. Some folks say he is very rich, while others have it that he is poor.”
“Do you say he lives all alone?”
“Yes, and has for years. He used to have a son live with him, but the boy died and that kind of made the old man queer in his head. But he isn’t a bad sort by any means. Once, when I was caught in the woods in a blizzard he took me in and treated me well. But he don’t care for company.”
“He would be just the sort of man those tramps would rob,” put in Joe.
The tracks of the feet in the snow were plainly to be seen, and as they continued on their way Joel Runnell became more and more convinced that the three tramps had gone to Ike Slosson’s house.
“When we come in sight of the house, I want you to halt,” said the old hunter. “For all we know it may not be safe to show ourselves.”
On and on they went. In spots the way was very rough, and they had to help each other over the rocks. At one point they could see where the tramps had halted for a meal, and here in the snow lay an empty liquor flask.
“That is evidence to me that the persons are the tramps we are after,” said Joe. “They were all drinking men.”
They had now to force their way through some short undergrowth and then cross a small stream, which in the summer time flowed into the lake. The stream was now a solid mass of ice.
“The house is just beyond yonder belt of trees,” said Joel Runnell, at last. “You had better stay here while I investigate.”
“Let us go a little closer and hide behind the nearest trees,” suggested Joe, and after a few words this was done.
With his gun over his shoulder Joel Runnell continued to advance until he was crossing the small clearing directly in front of the house, which was an old affair, a story and a half high, and containing but four rooms. The place looked to be closed and deserted.
“Hullo, Ike Slosson,” sang out the old hunter, when within fifty feet of the doorway. “Hullo, I say!”
Scarcely had he called out when there was a commotion in the house. He heard a shuffling of feet and some excited talking.
“Go away!” cried a high-pitched voice. “Go away, I say! I want no strangers around my house! Go away!”
