THE GAUNTLET.
"Boys, I ruther reckon my traps up towards the Upper Lake need lookin' after. What do you say to a little tramp to-day with the best troutin' in Maine, and perhaps a chance at a bear in the bargain? We kin camp at the Gauntlet ter-night, and come back here ter-morrow."
Old Joe Rawson, or Hunter Joe, as he greatly preferred being called, was the speaker. He was an eccentric, shiftless old fellow, who Knew far more about deer and bear than he did about the usages of polite society. He greatly preferred tramping through the woods for sixteen hours a day, watching a line of traps and picking up a precarious living from day to day, to comforts, no matter how comfortable, that must be earned by regular work.
"A feller might as well be a blamed old mule, and done with it," he would say, confidentially, "as to work out there in the hot sun all day, crawl back to his house at night all played out, and know that he's got to do the same thing termorrow and every other durn day as long as he lives! Ner sir! The old woman's got the farm, and she and the kids kin keep it. The woods is good enough fur Old Joe." From which characteristic remark may be seen, first, plainly that Joe's language was a trifle more forcible than elegant, and that his adjectives were a trifle slangy; and, secondly, there seems to be grounds for a suspicion that his conjugal Hie had not proven to be bliss unalloyed. Perhaps deep investigation might even find in this reasons for his "taking to the woods."
Joe's hearers were two college chums on a summer's vacation—just everyday college boys, neither pedants nor dudes—Fred Monroe and Tom Nelson. Fred had made Old Joe's acquaintance on several previous vacations, and now had brought his chum to Joe's camp on the Ebeemee Lakes to enjoy a taste of roughing it. Joe had gone about his business as usual until this day, leaving the boys to their own devices. They interviewed the pickerel and white perch to their heart's content, explored all the little brooks for trout, and kept the camp well supplied with trophies of their skill with the rod; hunted ducks on the lakes, and partridges and squirrels in the forest, much to Joe's disgust. "Thar won't be a bear nor a deer within ten miles as long as that durn racket is kept up," he would say reproachfully, after an especially noisy hunt.
Two weeks of fun had passed, and the boys were beginning to turn their thoughts toward the seaside with its more varied pleasures. But this unexpected invitation enkindled anew their waning interest. A chance to go to the Gauntlet! Why, Fred had camped with Old Joe for several successive years and never had the opportunity before. Would they go? What besides fishing brought them to Ebeemee anyway?
Preparations were hastily made, and in half an hour's time they set out for their ten-mile tramp, loaded with blankets, provisions, and all things essential for two days and a night away from the base of supplies.
Joe divided the loads amongst the party, taking nearly everything of weight in his own pack, and carrying his ax over his shoulder. Fred had his rifle, while Tom was armed only against trout, with the flyrods of the party.
The old man, loose jointed, thin as a lath, but incapable of fatigue in the woods, stalked ahead, giving his younger, lighter-loaded companions all the walking they wanted to keep up with him, stooping here to get under a "windfall," brushing aside the branches there, singing out, "Lookout l>ehind," and then letting the branches and his comrades attend to their own affairs, and settle their own difficulties; here climbing a steep bank, hands and feet busily employed, there, with perfect confidence in the durability of his own sewing, sitting down on the brink of a deep descent and making the trip on the slide, hands and feet useful in guiding and stopping at the right time.
His companions, at first disposed to waste their breaths in college songs, soon found abundant need of them in following Old Joe, and settled down to
taciturn tramping, after the example set them by their leader.
Finally, at the edge of a small meadow, the hunter paused, and surveyed his followers with a grim smile.
"How's your wind, boys?"
"All right, Joe; don't stop on our account," answered Tom.
"We are good for all day at this rate," says Fred, mopping his perspiring brow, and fanning himself vigorously with his hat. Joe grinned significantly.
"I didn't stop for you," he said; "but one of my traps is over here a spell, so you can have a rest till I get back. If you hear me holler, bring the gun as quick as you know how."
Taking his ax he struck off" alone. It was one of his peculiarities to keep the location of his traps from everyone. The exact locality of that particular trap is still a mystery, for he soon returned, and with a single word of explanation, "nothing," led the way onward.
Ten miles of walking on a smooth road is soon over; ten miles in unbroken forest, under "windfails" and through underbrush, is a trifle more walk to the mile, but even that has its limitations, and after several fruitless halts in the vicinities of Joe's traps, the party was finally led upon the sloping bank of the Pleasant river at the foot of the Gauntlet. High ledges rose fifty leet in the air, leaving only the river bed and rocky debris of the cliffs on either side. For half a mile the stream thus confined, boiled and foamed, first a sheer fall of several feet, then a deep pool, then rapids, another fall, more pools, rapids, and falls, until the still water at the fort was reached.
The origin of the name is a mystery to the sportsman, or other lover of nature, who sees only the beauty and grandeur of the spot. But the lumberman, watching the drive of logs, representing his earthly possessions, as it passes down over this part of its journey from the forest to the mill, and who sees, with apprehension, the thousand jagged rocks ready to catch and hold the products of his enterprise and industry, can testify that the name is well and properly bestowed.
Joe had been there too many times to devote any time to the scenery ; besides, he was hungry.
"Drop a line in there, Tom, and get us some trout for dinner, while Fred and I get the camp together." Tom quickly got his tackle in order, and started after the trout, while Joe and Fred went to work on the home arrangements.
Making a camp-fire in the woods, with material on all sides, seems to take no especial knack on first thought, yet it is a work of art, for the fire must burn for hours, and burn freely, too, for the nights in northern Maine are cool, to say the least. Joe knew the art to perfection. He looked the ground over carefully for a proper location, and then, with vigorous strokes, he felled three large maples that grew in near proximity, so that their trunks lay across each other at a common centre. Next one of the moss-covered cedar windfalls, so common in the vicinity, was attacked, and a liberal supply of the dry wood piled against the maple back logs. The night's fire was ready lor lighting.
While Joe was thus employed, Fred had leveled off the spot designed for the night's lodging, and, laying down spruce boughs to the depth of nearly a foot, had spread one of the blankets over them (the finest bed in the world for a tired man if the maker knows enough about it to lay the boughs right).
In the meantime Tom was in clover. The pool was alive with trout, and hungry trout at that. His very first cast was a signal for a rush from several at once, and in a trice he was battling with a gamy fellow that turned the scale at almost an even pound. Trout alter trout was struck, captured, and deposited in his basket, until the calls of his hungry companions compelled a truce.
Joe's fire was ready for business, and so was Joe. The old man wasn't a bad cook either—hardly artistic perhaps in his manner of using his hunting knife in jabbing potatoes to see if they were done, spearing a cinder that had fallen into the pan, or
turning a frying trout that had symptoms of burning—but very effective; and such a dinner as he produced! Coffee, with condensed milk (Joe at first turned up his nose at this refinement, but suddenly he became reconciled, apparently); fried potatoes, brown and crisp; hard tack and trout. Well, trout are well enough anywhere, but eaten in the woods, with the aroma of spruce and hemlock allpervading, a cool stream at your feet, and the fatigue and hunger of a respectable tramp through the woods giving relish and zest to it all! If you've eaten them that way you know all about it, and if you haven't you have got to taste Troi't.
After dinner and the post-prandial smoke, that requires quiet and an easy position for its perfect enjoyment, three fishers went forth to fish—Old Joe equipped with an alder pole, and using as bait the brilliant throats of the defunct trout. He strongly disapproved of the fancy-jointed rods, silk, lines, and gaudy flies of his comrades, and his luck during the trip certainly showed his methods to be effective; but, as the boys said, catching a gamy trout and yanking him out of the water over your head and into the bushes was too much like fishing for salt pork in a barrel of brine with a meat hook, and robbed trouting of that element of pleasure afforded by a skilful use of the fly and reel, so attractive to your disciple of Walton.
Of the fishing it is needless to remark more than that the Gauntlet isn't fished more than once in two or three years, and it is especially adapted for trout if ever a place was. Every pool seemed alive with them, and the question of transportation actually became important in a short time, for the fish retained averaged at least ten ounces. Fortunately the camp was at hand, so the load could be lightened without great trouble.
Joe distinguished himself by securely hooking a two-pounder while standing on a shelving rock over which half an inch of water was running. The effort to lift his prize out was more than his equilibrium could stand. Down he went with a splash, and in spite of his frantic efforts at recovery, he slid down his rock, and into six feet of water, pole and all. An instant later he crawled out on dry land, calmly puMed in his fish, and deposited it in safety on his alder withe. Then, seating himself, he discoursed at length concerning his luck while wringing out his socks.
Gathering shadows finally put an end to the sport, and the party made their way back to camp more than satisfied with the results. The fish were nicely dressed and laid on moss by the side of a cool spring—one hundred and seventy-six of them, great handsome fellows, a sight for an epicure! Neither of the boys had ever had any such experience before, and those fish must be sent to Massachusetts, if it took every cent there was in the party.
Supper was hastily prepared and disposed of. The burnt maple logs were pushed further on to the fire, a new supply of dry wood was added, and soon the flames were dancing twenty feet in the air.
Stretched out on the blankets, and lazily smoking, the boys were entertained by Old Joe, who, puffing slowly on his pipe, came out of his taciturn mood, and told story after story of his life in the woods, of the bears he had encountered, of the deer he saw on the Upper Lake when last there, of the " Indian devil" (panther) that has often been seen a little ways from the present camp, how it chased him once until he got into the old Holmes camp and kept him there all night.
"But a fire will keep them away, won't it?" asked Tom, anxiously.
"The Indians say that it won't; that they have been known to spring through flames even to get at a man when bothered, but I don't know myself. I never met one but this once, and I preferred wooden walls between us that time. Perhaps we can try the fire to-night though, if we have good luck," he added, with a sly glance at Fred.
The boys laughed, uneasily though, it must be confessed. The idea wasn't attractive, and Fred, to change the subject, said:
"Tell Tom that joke about the high water you got on Mrs. Benton last summer."
Joe chuckled to himself. "Did they tell you that, Fred? Gosh, I supposed they had forgotten that long ago " and the old man rubbed his head and smiled appreciatively at the fire. "Well, you see, Tom, Mrs. Benton is a mighty fine woman, an' the doctor's a right good feller, too, an' they both always have a good word for the ole man, so I sometimes makes free to joke them a little. They don't mind it, you know. Well, you see, we were settin' by the fire one night, an' the doctor was tellin' me about this whole country bein' under water once, and that's what made them big moraines between the outlet and the stage road. Yer know the 'supply ' road runs nearly all the way in, on the ridge of one of them. Mrs. Benton was sewing up a rip in the doctor's coat, an' lissening to the talk. After a while she chips in with, 'Joe, don't the water get pretty high here sometimes nowadays?' 'High!' says I, as straight as yer please. 'High! I should say so! Why, in .the spring it gits so high that I have to carry an eightfoot ladder with me in the canoe all the time;' an' with that I gits up an' goes alter some wood for the fire. I see the doctor eyeing me mighty sharp as I come in, but I never lets on until Mrs. Benton says: 'Joe, I don't see what you wanted of that ladder.' Says I: 'To get down on to the shore with when I want to land!' Gosh! but you ought to see Benton laugh ;" and Joe's mouth shaped itself to an expansive grin of delight, while his shoulders shook with silent laughter.
"Well, boys, I guess it's time to turn in. We've got a deuce of a tramp before us to-morrow, an' all them fish to tote in besides. I'm goin' to sleep;" and Joe pulled his hat down over his ears, wrapped his blanket closely around him, and in a minute was as good as his word.
But to the boys it was quite a different matter. Camping out in a log cabin was one thing, but lying with nothing between one and the stars, with a flickering fire lighting every branch and leal in the immediate vicinity, but making the outer circle of darkness tenfold more dark, that was quite a different thing. Joe's panther, too, would Intrude itself into their thoughts most unpleasantly, the waters of the Gauntlet roared hoarsely, the leaves in the trees around rustled and swayed, while ever and anon would sound the solemn wail of a loon on the neighboring lake, or the owl's startling inquiry, making the novice in woodscraft feel like an im pertinent intruder, and driving sleep from his eyes.
But sleep came at last; the fire sputtered, flick-cred, and burned lower and lower, the circle of darkness drew in upon them, and soon nothing disturbed the customary pea*.e of the forest but a few glowing coals under white ashes, and three slumbering figures in blankets, lying side by side.
An excellent place to introduce Joe's panther; but he was evidently engaged elsewhere.
"Come, boys, wake up! It's almost daybreak, and we must be started early if we expect to tote that pile of fish back to the camp by nightfall."
The boys were awake in an instant. The woods were as dark as midnight, but out over the water there was a hint of daylight. Old Joe was coaxing a piece of paper and some cedar shavings to ignite from a few glowing remnants of last night's fire, and coughing at the smoky remonstrances it made at such unseasonable awakening. Finally he conquered, and soon had a cheerful blaze lightening up the camp.
The boys got up, shook themselves to get the wrinkles out of their clothes, and went to the stream for a bath in its cool waters, while Joe, who scorned such effeminacy, with your true trapper's spirit, set about preparing breakfast.
Refreshed and invigorated, the chums were making their way back to the fire, when they were startled by an unusually savage ejaculation from Old Joe, who was after some of the captured trout for breakfast.
An instant later his voice was heard again:
"Fred! I say, Fred!"
"What is it?"
"Where did we put them trout last night?"
"Right there by the spring, on the moss. What's the matter?"
"Matter enough! Blast it all! They've all gone!"
"Gone! Impossible!" Both boys rushed to the spring. The fact was apparent. They were gone, and Joe, who was looking carefully around, pointed at some little tracks in the sand that betrayed the robber—a mink clearly enough.
All three sat down dejectedly.
"Well, of all the cheek I ever stmck that beats me! They weren't fifteen feet from the fire!" gasped Tom, almost stunned with consternation at the loss.
"Fifteen feet is nothin'," answered Joe. "A mink is cheeky enough to pull a fish out from under your head if it took a notion it wanted it! But of all tha fool things I ever did, this is the worst! A man that has trapped for thirty years, and don't know no better than to use a mink's hole for a cupboard for trout, ought to be taught a lesson! Just kick me a few times for luck, will yer. I need it!" and the old man looked so earnest, that the boys laughed in spite of their chagrin.
"Rut what under the sun have they done with them?" asked Fred. You don't mean to tell me that one, or a dozen minks, have eaten at least ioo pounds of trout, bones and all, in just the seven or eight hours they've had at it. do your'
"It's jest as bad, as far as you are concerned," said Hunter Joe. "They've carried them into their holes—the whole mess of them, and are now tickled to death at the joke of having two college dandies and a durn fool ole trapper walk ten miles to fish for them, and spend two whole hours cleaning them for them," he continned, jerking his hat from his head, and flinging it upon the ground, "an' lay them upon moss for them, so they need'nt wet their feet getting them, and eat durn 'minnies' ourselves, so as to save the two-pounders for them," and at this climax he sprang to his leet, leaving his hearers to their own thoughts. The boys laughed at the singular vein of pathos developed by Old Joe, and making their way back to the fire, set about preparing such breakfast as was left to them. But Joe's anger evidently had'nt impaired his sense, lor he soon reappeared with half-a-dozen good-sized fish he had just caught, and a comfortable breakfast at least was assured.
After breakfast a council was convened, and the venerable Joseph, after a few deep pulls on his pipe, made some pertinent remarks.
"Boys, I'm blamed sorry about them fish on your account, but you had the fun of catching them, anyway, and I actually worried all night about packing them back to the camp."
The boys remembered how he worried, but they didn't interrupt.
"They ain't no sense," he continued, "in spending money sending fish so far as you wanted to, anyway! Like's not they'd all spoil before they got there—and you know there's more carrion in a spoiled fish than in ten times its weight of almost anything else.
"Just let it rip this time, we'll call it 'lookin' after traps,' and strike for home now, and day after to-morrow, we'll take the canoe, and I'll show you just the durnedest place for trout you ever see —a place almost as good as this, and we can paddle home in the canoe, instead of breaking our blamed backs lugging more fish than we want, all over the country."
Joe got up, knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and began his packing for the return trip.
The boys looked at him, then at each other for a moment in silence. Joe was right about the chances of the fish spoiling before they reached home, and anyway, they might as well take what comfort there was in it. The fish were gone—so with a solemn clasping of hands, over an agreement not to let the boys at college get hold of the I facts in the case, they headed themselves for the return. Joe was merciful in this day's tramp, and led them at a reasonable rate of speed over a new route, "stopping here at a cool spring, taking a lunch from a patch of delicious blackberries growing in their full perfection, to furnish a dessert for the prowling bear. At last the surroundings began to be familiar. Here was where Tom scared up that
and it ended....
