The Trappers Son | Page 5

he exclaimed. "The creature must have
gnawed it off, and got away. The other trap has been pulled up. I can
see the tracks it has left, as the animal dragged it away."
"We will be after it, then," cried Moggs. "If it is another white wolf we
shall be well repaid indeed for the loss of our steeds, though we have to
carry our packs till we can reach the fort. Come, Laurence, help me to
finish off this work."
The skin was added to the already heavy load which old Moggs carried,
and the traps hid in a spot which, with his experienced eye, he could
without difficulty find.
"Now Laurence," he exclaimed, "we will be after the runaway."
The keen sight of the old man easily distinguished the marks left on the
ground by the heavy trap as the animal trailed it behind him. The
creature, after going some way along the valley, had taken to the higher
ground, where its traces were still more easily distinguished upon the
crust of the snow which lay there. The white wolf had got some
distance ahead, when at length, to the delight of old Moggs, he
discovered it with the trap at its heels. It seemed to know that its
pursuers were close behind. Off it scampered at a rapid trot, now over
the rugged and broken surface of rocks, now descending into ravines,
now going north, now south, making numerous zigzag courses in its
efforts to escape and deceive the hunters. Still old Moggs pursued,
regardless of fatigue, though Laurence had great difficulty in keeping
up with him, and often felt as if he must drop. His father encouraged
him to continue the chase, promising soon to overtake the creature. At
length, however, Laurence could go no further, and sank down on a hill,
over which they had just climbed, and were about to descend to a
valley below them.

"Rest there till I come back, then, boy," exclaimed the hardy old trapper,
a slight tone of contempt mixed with his expression of pity. "The wolf I
must have, even though he leads me a score of miles further. Here, take
the tinder-box and axe, and make a fire; by the time I come back we
shall need some food, after our chase."
Having given Laurence the articles he mentioned, with a handful of
pemmican from his wallet, he hastened down the hill, in the direction
the wolf had taken along the valley.
Young Laurence was too much accustomed to those wilds to feel any
alarm at being left alone; and as soon as he had somewhat rested, he set
to work to cut a supply of dried branches from the surrounding shrubs,
with which he quickly formed a blazing fire. The pemmican, or
pounded buffalo meat, further restored his strength, and he began to
think that he would follow in the direction his father had taken, to save
him from having to ascend the hill. When he began to move, however,
he felt so weary that he again sank down by the side of the fire, where
in a short time he fell asleep. Wild dreams troubled his slumbers, and
long-forgotten scenes came back to his mind. He was playing in a
garden among flowers in front of a neat and pretty dwelling, with the
waters of a tranquil lake shining far below. He heard the gentle voice of
one he trusted, whose fair sweet face ever smiled on him as he
gambolled near her. The voice was hastily calling him, when suddenly
he was lifted up and carried away far from her shrieks and cries. The
rattle of musketry echoed in his ears, then he was borne down a rapid
stream, the waters hissing and foaming around. Now numberless
Indians, in war-paint and feathers, danced frantically before his eyes,
and huge fires blazed up, and again shrieks echoed in his ears. Then a
monstrous animal, with glaring eyeballs, burst into their midst, putting
the Indians to flight, and scattering their fires far and wide, yelling and
roaring savagely. He started up, when what was his horror to see the
fierce white wolf his father had been pursuing rushing towards him
with the chain and trap still trailing at his heels. Spell-bound, he felt
unable to rise. In another moment the enraged wolf would be upon him,
when a rifle shot rang through the air, and the wolf dropped dead close
to where he lay.

"Art safe, Laurence, art unhurt, boy?" exclaimed the old trapper, who
came, breathless, hurrying up the side of the hill. "The brute doubled
cunningly on me, and thinking, from the way he was leading, that he
would pass near where I left you, I took a short cut, in hopes of being
before him.