The Wolf Hunters | Page 8

"You need not fear about losing your position." wrote Wabigoon. "We
shall make more money up here this winter than you could earn in
Detroit in three years. We will hunt wolves. The country is alive with
them, and the government gives a bounty of fifteen dollars for every
scalp taken. Two winters ago I killed forty and I did not make a
business of it at that. I have a tame wolf which we use as a decoy. Don't
bother about a gun or anything like that. We have everything here."

For several days Mrs. Drew and her son deliberated upon the situation
before a reply was sent to the Newsomes. Roderick pleaded, pictured
the glorious times they would have, the health that it would give them,
and marshaled in a dozen different ways his arguments in favor of
accepting the invitation. On the other hand, his mother was filled with
doubt. Their finances were alarmingly low, and Rod would be giving
up a sure though small income, which was now supporting them
comfortably. His future was bright, and that winter would see him
promoted to ten dollars a week in the mercantile house where he was
employed. In the end they came to an understanding. Mrs. Drew would
not go to Wabinosh House, but she would allow Roderick to spend the
winter there--and word to this effect was sent off into the wilderness.
Three weeks later came Wabigoon's reply. On the tenth of October he
would meet Rod at Sprucewood, on the Black Sturgeon River. Thence
they would travel by canoe up the Sturgeon River to Sturgeon Lake,
take portage to Lake Nipigon, and arrive at Wabinosh House before the
ice of early winter shut them in. There was little time to lose in making
preparations, and the fourth day following the receipt of Wabi's letter
found Rod and his mother waiting for the train which was to whirl the
boy into his new life. Not until the eleventh did he arrive at
Sprucewood. Wabi was there to meet him, accompanied by an Indian
from the Post; and that same afternoon the journey up Black Sturgeon
River was begun.
CHAPTER III
RODERICK SEES THE FOOTPRINT
Rod was now plunged for the first time in his life into the heart of the
Wilderness. Seated in the bow of the birch-bark canoe which was
carrying them up the Sturgeon, with Wabi close behind him, he drank
in the wild beauties of the forests and swamps through which they
slipped almost as noiselessly as shadows, his heart thumping in joyous
excitement, his eyes constantly on the alert for signs of the big game
which Wabi told him was on all sides of them. Across his knees, ready
for instant use, was Wabi's repeating rifle. The air was keen with the

freshness left by night frosts. At times deep masses of gold and crimson
forests shut them in, at others, black forests of spruce came down to the
river's edge; again they would pass silently through great swamps of
tamaracks. In this vast desolation there was a mysterious quiet, except
for the occasional sounds of wild life. Partridges drummed back in the
woods, flocks of ducks got up with a great rush of wings at almost
every turn, and once, late in the morning of the first day out, Rod was
thrilled by a crashing in the undergrowth scarcely a stone's throw from
the canoe. He could see saplings twisting and bending, and heard Wabi
whisper behind him:
"A moose!"
They were words to set his hands trembling and his whole body
quivering with anticipation. There was in him now none of the old
hunter's coolness, none of the almost stoical indifference with which
the men of the big North hear these sounds of the wild things about
them. Rod had yet to see his first big game.
That moment came in the afternoon. The canoe had skimmed lightly
around a bend in the river. Beyond this bend a mass of dead driftwood
had wedged against the shore, and this driftwood, as the late sun sank
behind the forests, was bathed in a warm yellow glow. And basking in
this glow, as he loves to do at the approach of winter nights, was an
animal, the sight of which drew a sharp, excited cry from between
Rod's lips. In an instant he had recognized it as a bear. The animal was
taken completely by surprise and was less than half a dozen rods away.
Quick as a flash, and hardly realizing what he was doing, the boy drew
his rifle to his shoulder, took quick aim and fired. The bear was already
clambering up the driftwood, but stopped suddenly at the report,
slipped as if about to fall back--then continued his retreat.
"You hit