Bert Wilson in the Rockies Read online

  CHAPTER IV

  A Forest Terror

  "A dandy day for fishing," remarked Bert as he was dressing a fewmornings later.

  "Just right for the speckled beauties to bite," acquiesced Dick as helooked out of the window and saw the clouds that obscured the sun.

  "What do you say to trying it?" suggested Tom, who was an enthusiast onthe subject. "I'd like nothing better than to whip some of these mountainstreams for trout."

  "Or troll for pickerel in the lake Mr. Melton was telling us about,"amended Bert. "He says there are some whopping big fellows up there.We'll find plenty of bass, too, and they're fighters from way back."

  At breakfast the matter was broached and met with the hearty approval ofMr. Melton.

  "I don't think it will rain before night," he said, "and on a hazy daylike this they'll keep you busy pulling them in. How about tackle? Didyou bring any along?"

  "Plenty," answered Bert. "Each of us has a rod and reel. The pike andpickerel will bite at the spoon, and we can get plenty of bait for thebass right out here in the garden. Let's hurry up, fellows, and getbusy," he continued, pushing his chair away from the table. "Won't yougo along, Mr. Melton."

  "Like to," said their host. "Nothing would suit me better than to pullin some of the sockdolagers you'll find in that lake. But I've got adate with a horse dealer to-day, who's coming up to look at some of mybronchos, and I can't get off. Don't catch them all to-day," he laughed,"and some day soon I'll go with you. Of course, you'll take your gunsalong."

  "Why, yes, if you think it necessary," replied Bert. "But we'll be prettywell loaded with tackle and fish if we have any luck."

  "Never mind the load," he adjured emphatically. "Never go into themountains without your gun. Of course, you may have no use for it.Chances are that you won't. But it's a mighty wise thing to have a goodrifle along wherever you go in this country. And if you need it at all,you'll need it mighty bad and mighty quick."

  So that when the boys left the house a half hour later, they took withthem not only all that was necessary to lure the finny prey from theirlurking places, but each as well carried on his shoulder a Winchesterrepeating rifle and around his waist a well-stored cartridge belt.

  Mr. Melton gave them explicit directions as to the route they were tofollow to find the lake, which lay in the hollow of a broad plateau aboutfive miles back in the mountains.

  "You'll find a canoe hidden in the bushes near a big clump of trees onthe east shore," he said. "That is, if nobody has swiped it. But Icovered it up pretty well the last time I was there, and I guess it'ssafe enough. If not, you'll have to take your chance in fishing from theshore. There's an island a little way out in the lake, and you'll findthe pike thick around there if you can get out to it. And don't wait toolong before starting for home. That mountain trail is hard enough tofollow in the daytime, but you'd find your work cut out for you if youtried it in the dark."

  They promised not to forget the time in their enthusiasm for the sport,and, stowing away in their basket the toothsome and abundant lunch put upby Mrs. Melton, they started off gaily on their trip.

  For a little distance from the house the road was fairly level. Then itbegan to ascend and soon the trees that clothed the slopes shut them in,and they lost sight of the ranch and of everything that spoke ofcivilization.

  "'This is the forest primeval,'" quoted Dick.

  "'The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,'" added Tom.

  "Primeval's the word," said Bert as he looked in awe at the gianttrees, towering in some instances to a height of two hundred feet."I suppose this looked just as it does now ten thousand years ago.The only thing that suggests man is this trail we're following, and thatgets fainter and fainter as we keep climbing. This is sure enough 'God'sout-of-doors.'"

  The balsam of the pines was in their nostrils and the path was carpetedby the fragrant needles. Squirrels chattered in the trees and chipmunksslipped like shadows between the trunks. As they were passing a monsteroak, Bert's observant eye noted something that brought him to a suddenhalt.

  "Look there, fellows," and he pointed to a place on the bark aboutfifteen feet from the ground.

  "Well, what about it?" demanded Tom.

  "Those scratches on the trunk," said Bert. "What made them?"

  They looked more closely and saw two rows of scratches that had torndeeply into the bark. Each row consisted of five marks at an equaldistance apart. It was as though two gigantic rakes had been drawn alongthe rough surface, each tooth of the rakes peeling off a long verticalstrip.

  The boys looked at each other in wonder. Then they peered into thesurrounding woods a little uneasily.

  "Some animal made those marks," said Bert at last. "And, what's more,there's only one animal that could have done it."

  "And that's a grizzly bear," said Dick.

  Again the boys looked at each other, and it almost seemed as though theycould hear the beating of their hearts. Then Tom measured again with hiseye the distance from the ground to where the scratches began.

  "Sixteen feet if it's an inch," he decided. "Nonsense," he went on, witha tone of relief in his voice. "There's nothing that walks on four feetcould do it. A horse even couldn't stand on his hind legs and strike withhis fore hoofs the place where those scratches begin. Some of thosepre-historic monsters, whose skeletons we see in the museums, might havedone it, but nothing that walks the earth nowadays. You'll have to guessagain, Bert."

  "They might have been made by some animal in climbing," suggested Dick."He might have slipped in coming down and torn off those strips in tryingto hold on."

  "But grizzlies don't climb," objected Bert.

  "Who said it was a grizzly?" retorted Tom. "It might have been a black orbrown bear. You've got grizzlies on the brain. The very biggest don'tmeasure more than nine or ten feet from the nose to the root of the tail.Allowing a couple of feet more for his reach, and you have eleven ortwelve altogether. How do you account for the other four or five?Unless," he went on with elaborate sarcasm, "you figure out that this petof yours is about fourteen feet long."

  The argument certainly seemed to be with Tom, but Bert, although he hadno answer to it, still felt unconvinced.

  "The scratches are too deep to have been made by any animal slipping," hepersisted. "The beast, whatever it was, had a tremendous purchase to digso deep. And he couldn't have got such a purchase except by standing onhis hind legs."

  "Marvelous," mocked Tom. "A regular Sherlock Holmes! Perhaps he stood ona ladder or a chair. I've heard that grizzlies carry such things aboutwith them when strolling in the woods. Come along, old man," he bantered,"or these squirrels will think you're a nut and carry you off. There'snothing this side of a nightmare that'll fit your theory, and you'dbetter give it up and come along with us sensible people."

  "But what did do it, then?" asked Bert obstinately.

  "Search me," answered Tom flippantly. "I don't have to know. I'm notcursed with curiosity so much as some people I could mention. What I doknow is that we're losing time and that I'm fairly aching to bait my hookand fling it into the water. We've promised Mrs. Melton a big mess offish for supper, and we've got to get busy, or she'll think we're a lotof four-flushers."

  They picked up their traps that they had laid aside while they werestudying the bark. Tom and Dick kept up a steady fire of jokes, theirspirits lightened by the evidence that the "ghost" of the grizzly hadbeen "laid." But Bert answered only in monosyllables. He would have beenas relieved as they had he been able to convince himself that he waswrong. He "hadn't lost any bear," and was not particularly anxious to"meet up" with one, especially a monster of the size indicated. Suddenlyhe dropped the basket.

  "I've got it," he exclaimed eagerly.

  "No, you haven't," contradicted Dick. "You've just dropped it."

  "What have you got?" mocked Tom. "A fit?"

  "The answer," said Bert.

  "Prove it," challenged Dick.

  "I'm from Missouri," said Tom skeptically.


  "Why, it's this way," hurried on Bert, too engrossed in his solution toretort in kind. "Sandy was telling me a little while ago about the habitsof grizzlies, and he mentioned especially the trick they have of standingon their hind legs and clawing at trees as high as they could reach. ButI remember he said they did this only in the spring. They've just comeout of winter quarters and they feel the need of stretching their musclesthat have got cramped during their long sleep. In the spring, the earlyspring. Don't you see?"

  "Not exactly," confessed Dick.

  "No, Sherlock," murmured Tom, "I don't follow you."

  "Why," said Bert impatiently, "don't you boobs realize that up in themountains here the snow is often four or five feet deep in the earlyspring? How could the grizzly reach that high? _Because he stood on asnowbank._"

  "By Jove," exclaimed Tom, all his self-assurance vanishing, "I believeyou're right."

  "You've hit the bull's-eye," cried Dick. "Bert, old man, you're awonder."

  "Of course," Bert went on, too generous to gloat over their discomfiture,"that only proves that he was here then. He may be a hundred miles offby this time. Still, it won't do a bit of harm to keep our eyes peeledand make sure that our guns are in good working order. He's probably gota perpetual grouch, and he might be peevish if he should turn up and findus poaching on his hunting grounds."

  They moved along, a little more soberly now, and their eyes narrowlyscanned the trees ahead as though at any moment through the forest aislesthey might discover a giant form lumbering down upon them. They did notthink it at all likely, as there had been no rumors for some time pastof a grizzly having been seen in the locality, nor had the mutilated bodyof some luckless steer borne traces of his handiwork. Still it was"better to be safe than sorry," and their vigilance did not relax untilthey came out of the thicker forest onto a more scantily wooded plateauand saw before them the shining waters of the lake that marked the goalof their journey.

  Under the cloudy sky the waters had the steel-gray luster of quicksilver.It seemed to be about three miles in length, although this they could notclearly determine, owing to a curve at the upper end, which concealed itslimits in that direction. It was not more than three-quarters of a milewide, and the expanse was broken by a small wooded island about half wayacross. Nothing living was in sight, except a huge fish hawk that waitedexpectantly on a dead branch overhanging the water. Even while theylooked, it darted downward, cleaving the air and water like an arrow, andreappeared a moment later with a large fish struggling in its jaws.Resuming its seat upon the branch it tossed the fish in the air, caughtit cleverly as it came down, and swallowed it at a gulp.

  "Talk about juggling," laughed Tom. "That fellow would make a hit uponthe vaudeville stage."

  "I'd like first rate to have him at the end of a cord," said Dick.

  "Like those natives we saw in China, eh?" suggested Bert. "Do youremember how they used to fasten a ring about the throat so that theycouldn't swallow them? It always seemed to me a low-down game to makethem fork over as soon as they caught the fish."

  "Well, at any rate, that fellow has shown us that there are fish to behad for the taking," said Tom. "I'll hunt up that canoe while you getthe rods and reels ready. What are you going to try for first, pickerelor bass?"

  "Suppose we take a hack at both," suggested Dick. "I'll get out the spoonbait and try for pike and pickerel. You and Bert can use the live baitand see what luck you have with the bass."

  A careful search revealed the canoe, so cunningly hidden by its ownerunder a heap of brush and sedge-grass, that only the explicit directionsthey had received enabled them to find it. It was in good condition,about eighteen feet in length and two paddles lay in the bottom. Tom gotin, pushed off from the shore, and with deft strokes brought the slendercraft down to where his friends were waiting.

  Bert eyed the frail boat dubiously.

  "A canoe is a dandy thing for cruising in, especially if you want to getsomewhere in a hurry, but it was never meant for a fishing party," hecommented. "We'd have to be so careful in moving about that we couldn'tkeep our mind on the sport. You couldn't play a bass from one withoutdanger of upsetting. I tell you what we'd better do. Let one of us fishfrom the shore for bass, while the two others in the canoe troll forpickerel. Two lines can be put out over the stern and one can paddlegently while the other keeps a sharp eye on the lines. Between us all weought to get a mess in less than no time. We'll toss up to see whichshall do the lonesome act while the others use the canoe. At noontimewe'll have a fish fry right here on the shore to help us out with thelunch. The one who catches the first fish gets out of doing any of thework. The one who gets the next will have to do the cooking and the onethat trails in last will have to clean the fish. What do you say?"

  There was no dissenting voice, and the spinning coin decreed that Tom andDick should do the trolling, while Bert remained on shore and tried forbass.

  With the polished spoons twinkling in the water behind, the canoe shotout to the center of the lake. Bert carefully baited his hook and cast itfar out from shore. Then, with the happy optimism of the averagefisherman, he settled back and waited for results.

  Contrary to the usual experience, those results were not long in coming.Tom was the first to score. The spoon at the end of his line dippedviolently, and, hauling it in rapidly, he yanked in a big pickerel. Hedid not dare to shout, for fear of scaring the wary denizens of the lake,but he held it up for Bert to see, and the latter responded with a waveof the hand in congratulation.

  The next instant he had to grab his own rod with both hands, while thecord whistled out over the reel. He had made a "strike," and the franticplunges at the other end of the line told that he had hooked a fighter.Back and forth he darted, until it seemed as though the slender rod wouldbreak under the strain. Bert's fighting blood responded to the challenge,and he played his opponent with all the skill and judgment in which hewas a past master. It was fully ten minutes before, carefully shorteninghis line, he was able to land on the bank a magnificent striped bass.

  From that time on, the sport was fast and furious. The lake was full offish, and it had been visited so rarely that they had not learned thedanger of the bait that trailed so temptingly before them. In half anhour they had caught more than they could eat and carry home, and Tom,whose appalling appetite was clamoring for satisfaction, suggested thatthey wind up and pull for shore. Dick was nothing loath, and the canoe,more heavily loaded than when they had started out, glided shorewarduntil its nose touched the bank where Bert was standing, surrounded bya host of finny beauties that bore witness to his skill.

  They fastened the boat securely and spent a few minutes comparing theircatches. Then they gathered a heap of dry brush and burned it until theyhad a glowing bed of embers. They had no frying pan, but Bert improvisedan ingenious skillet of tough oaken twigs, that, held high enough abovethe fire, promised to broil the fish to a turn.

  Tom, who, in accordance with the agreement, had nothing to do, stretchedhimself out luxuriously and "bossed the job."

  "See that you don't burn the fish, my man," he said to Bert, affecting alanguid drawl. "And you, my good fellow," he added, turning to Dick, "besure and clean them thoroughly."

  He dodged just in time to avoid a fish head that Dick threw at him. Itwhizzed by his ear, and his quick duck detracted somewhat from hisdignity.

  "The growing insolence of the lower classes," he muttered, regaining hisequilibrium. "You're fired," he roared, glaring at Dick.

  "All right," said Dick, throwing down his knife.

  "No, no," corrected Tom hurriedly, "not till after dinner."

  Before long the fish were sputtering merrily over the fire and theappetizing smell was full of promise. It even induced Tom to abandon hisleisurely attitude and "rustle" the good things out of the basket. Theymade a royal meal and feasted so full and long that, when at last oldNature simply balked at more, they had no desire to do anything but lieback lazily and revel in the sheer delight of living.

 
; "If I've an enemy on earth, I forgive him," sighed Dick blissfully.

  "Old Walt Whitman's my favorite poet," said Tom. "Isn't he the fellowthat tells you to 'loaf and invite your soul'?"

  "Soul," grunted Bert disdainfully. "You haven't any soul. Just now you'reall body."

  "Always pickin' on me," groaned Tom resignedly.

  In complete abandonment to their sense of well being they drew their hatsover their eyes and stretched out under the shadow of the trees that camedown almost to the water's edge. A brooding peace enveloped them, and thedroning of insects and the faint lapping of the water on the shore lulledthem into drowsiness. Insensibly they lapsed into slumber.

  A half hour passed before Bert started up and rubbed his eyes. It tookhim a moment to realize where he was. His eyes fell on his sleepingcompanions, and he made a movement as though to awake them. Then hechecked the impulse.

  "What's the use?" he said to himself. "There's plenty of time before weneed to start for home."

  He yawned and lay back again. But now the desire for sleep had left him.After a moment he sat up again.

  "I haven't tried the canoe yet," he thought. "I'll take a little spinacross to the island. They'll be awake by the time I get back."

  Noiselessly he walked down to the water's edge, unfastened the canoe andtook up the paddle.

  There was scarcely a ripple on the lake except that made by the sharp bowof the canoe. There was an exhilarating sense of flying as his lightcraft shot away from the shore. Almost before he knew it he had coveredthe distance and was drawing up the canoe on the sloping beach of theisland.

  It was larger than he had thought, at a distance, and toward the centerwas heavily wooded. There was a dense tangle of undergrowth, and in orderto avoid this he skirted the shore, intending to make a complete circuitbefore returning to the canoe.

  His surprise was great when on reaching the further side he found that itwas not an island at all. A narrow strip of land connected it with themainland beyond. It was not over a hundred feet in width, but he noticedthat there was a very distinct path that had been beaten through theundergrowth. The discovery for a moment startled him. Then he realizedthat the woods were, of course, full of all sorts of harmless animals,who had to come down to the water to drink. This would explain the beatenpath, and in some measure it reassured him.

  Still his gait was quicker as he sped along, intent on regaining thecanoe. It would have perhaps been just as well if he had put his rifle inwhen he started. He listened attentively now as he hurried on, but not asound broke the stillness of the woods.

  And now his pulses began to drum with that subtle sixth sense of his thatwarned of danger. Again and again in his adventurous career he had feltit, and it had never misled him. It was something like the second sightof the Highlander. His nature was so highly organized that like asensitive camera it registered impressions that others overlooked. Nowsome "coming event" was casting "its shadow before," and the mysteriousmonitor warned him to be on his guard.

  It was with a feeling of intense relief that he came again in sight ofthe canoe and saw that it was undisturbed. He looked across and saw hisfriends waving at him. He waved back and stooped to unfasten the canoe.

  Then something that struck him as odd in their salutation caused him tolook again. It was not simply a friendly greeting. There was terror,panic, wild anxiety. And now they were shouting and pointing to somethingbehind him.

  He turned like a flash. And what he saw made his heart almost leap fromhis body.