Storm-Bound: or, A Vacation Among the Snow Drifts

Elmer laughed.

"I've heard many men say they think musquash as good as almost anything to be had in the woods or swamps up north. The Indians always consider them a dainty," he told his chum.

"Oh! yes, but they are also mighty fond of baked dog," remonstrated Lil Artha.

"So would you be, if you'd been brought up that way. Some people can't bear the thought of eating frogs' legs, and yet those same folks will sit down and calmly swallow a dozen oysters or clams on the half shell. Now, I've always said that the first man who ever gulped down a live oyster had more nerve even than Napoleon. Then, if you only travel around, from China to France, you'll find that things we scorn are called dainties there. Take snails, which bring a high price in Paris markets – have you ever eaten one in all your life?"

"Hold on there, Elmer," exclaimed Lil Artha; "bring on your musquash. I'm ready to give him a fair trial, and if he tastes good, after this you won't hear me draw the line even at baked dog – or crow. Yes, I've heard of people who say they've made a meal off crow, and liked it. Why, down our way the black rascals live on corn, and I don't see why they shouldn't be eatable, especially when a fellow has nothing else along."

"Then I tell you what our programme should be," the scout master continued, as though this ready admission on the part of the other gun-bearer had settled the question with him; "we'll make up our minds about stopping close by here, and on the border of the marsh. While George and Toby are fixing camp, and beginning to gather wood, the two of us can start out and enter the marsh, keeping within calling distance of each other. If there's anything doing we'll bag some game for our supper to-night. How does that strike you?"

"Tip-top, Elmer, and because the sun is getting pretty low over there in the west we'd better be finding that camp-site in a hurry."

"I think I see as good a place as any right now," the scout master declared, as he pointed straight ahead. "You can glimpse what I mean by looking just past that birch that is bent nearly double with the snow. A dead tree lies on the ground, and I should think it would give us all the wood we'll need to-night. That's the main thing to make sure of."

"And there's a heavy growth in sight, Elmer, that would serve as a windbreak in case it got to blowing great guns before morning, which I don't think will happen though. Shall I tell the other fellows we're at the end of our day's tramp?"

"Yes, because they're both about as tired as can be, and will be glad to hear the news," Elmer replied.

So Lil Artha fell back in order to get in communication with Toby and George, who were plodding along with many a sigh and grunt; for their packs were heavy, and the going rough, with all that deep snow to struggle through.

"Hi! hurry along there, fellows!" he called out; "we're meaning to camp right ahead here. Plenty of wood for a fire, and a windbreak in the bargain."

"Tell us something about the visible grub supply, won't you, Lil Artha?" asked Toby, beseechingly. "Is there a good grocery around the corner, and does the butcher call for orders every morning, or just three times a week?"

"Oh! you have to go after your fresh meat," laughed the tall scout, "and that's what me'nd Elmer propose doing, leaving you two to fix the camp."

"All right," replied the weary Toby, "just as you say. Anything to oblige; and here's hoping you run up against the best of success. A broiled partridge, or three slices of juicy venison in the fryingpan would about suit my taste."

"They don't grow juicy venison up here, you ought to know, Toby; every kind I ever heard of was as dry as tinder, and had to be cooked with slices of bacon to make it taste just right. But considering that we've made way with the last scrap of cured pork I guess we'll take it any old style."

Lil Artha did not think it wise to spring the muskrat idea too suddenly on those unsuspecting fellows. He had a vague idea that should Elmer and himself meet with success, and knock over several of the marsh dwellers with the unenviable name, they might skin them, and let their chums imagine that they were eating squirrel or rabbit or something like that. Afterwards, when they had set the stamp of approval upon the dish, the truth could come out. Prejudice by then would have been overcome by the knowledge that "musquash," the Indian dish, was all right.

When the little struggling party reached the spot Elmer had selected, and every one had a chance to survey the situation, a unanimous approval of his choice was the result.

"You couldn't have done better if you'd tried," said George.

"Don't believe there's as good a camp-site within five miles," Toby added; but perhaps the tired condition of the boys had something to do with this endorsement on their part; just then any place would have satisfied their desires, which were not very exacting.

The heavy packs were quickly hung from the lower limb of a tree under which the camp fire was to be made. It was a pine, and beneath it the ground seemed to be fairly clear of snow, most of what had fallen still clinging to the tree itself.

"Better not waste any more time, had we, Elmer?" asked the tall scout, as he nervously handled his Marlin gun, anxious to start out after game.

"No, get busy, please," said Toby; "don't bother about us, for we know how camp ought to be made. All we ask is that you come back loaded down with something to eat."

"We don't care much what it is, if only you cut out crow," George added.

Lil Artha gave his fellow Nimrod a quick look, as much as to say, "that lets us out, and we can fetch home the musquash with a clear conscience – if so be we're lucky enough to bag any."

They went away in company. The last words George flung after the departing comrades was a caution.

"For goodness' sake now, don't go and get lost in that marsh, or we will be in a bad scrape. Things are hard enough as it stands without our getting separated. If you don't just know where the camp is located give three yells, or fire three shots as fast as you can. We'll answer you back, and keep hollering till you show up. Three shots, remember."

Once the two scouts entered the frozen marsh they kept together for a short time.

"How'll I know a muskrat house when I see it, Elmer?" asked Lil Artha.

"Oh! you've seen them often around home, only you forget," replied the other, but in order to make sure, he continued: "you know, they build their nests or houses a little after the same style as beaver do, only of course not so big or secure. If when you're passing a marsh or swampy tract, and spy a number of what look like irregular mounds, or heaps of dead rushes, you can make up your mind muskrats live there. If it's a lake or a stream they can be found in among the rocks too, but not as a rule, because there they are apt to run up against the otter, weasel and the mink, and there's no love lost between those sharp-toothed animals and the muskrat. He's a hard fighter, too, as his jaws tell you, Lil Artha, but hardly a match for a mink in a stand-up scrap. There's a muskrat house right now; let's stop and see if the old fellow is at home."

Accordingly they surrounded the accumulation of dead rushes and leaves and other refuse, after which Elmer tore it to pieces, while Lil Artha stood guard, ready to take snap judgment should the occasion arise.

It turned out to be a disappointment, however, for the mound was empty.

"Nothing doing, eh?" grunted the tall scout, lowering his gun, which he had been keeping half elevated all the while.

"No, and I didn't believe we'd have any success here soon after I started tearing the thing down," replied Elmer. "It showed all the signs of being a deserted shack."

"What could have happened to the former inhabitant, do you think?" continued the disappointed one, to whom even musquash stew was beginning to appeal more and more, as the chances of securing any sort of game diminished in proportion.

"I might guess that he chose to change his place of residence," said Elmer, "or, it might be that Uncle Caleb fancies the old Indian dish once in a while. But let's be moving along. The mill will never grind again with the water that is past; and we're not going to get our supper by standing over a muskrat house that hasn't got any owner."

Another start was accordingly made. Elmer kept track of the direction they were taking. He did not mean to find himself in a quandary when they were ready to turn back again, and not be able to say where the camp lay. Lil Artha knew he could depend on his chum in that respect, and hence he did not concern himself in the slightest degree about such a thing as becoming bewildered. It is a nice thing to have some one to lean upon at all times, though the scout master often took Lil Artha to task because of his willingness to let another do his thinking for him.

"Let's separate a little," Elmer suggested, presently, when they had gone along for quite some distance and found nothing at all. "We ought to be able to keep in sight of each other easily enough; and the same time cover a lot more ground, and in that way increase our chances."

"I'm agreeable," chirped Lil Artha, not suspecting how great an influence on their future fortunes even that little incident was going to prove; "I'll swing off to the right here, and follow this swale, while you keep straight on. I rather like the looks of things over this way, and p'raps I'll run across a colony of those r – I mean musquash."

"Give me the wolf call if you do," Elmer told him, smiling at the quick way Lil Artha had corrected himself when about to give that unpleasant name to the furry little denizen of the marsh they were seeking so eagerly, so as to improve the looks of their larder, and satisfy a craving they felt for making his acquaintance in a stew.

Elmer watched the tall scout move along the swale he had mentioned. He fancied that Lil Artha was about right when he declared it looked as though something might be found in that direction, if signs stood for much.

"I certainly hope, then, he strikes it," Elmer mused as he rambled on, dodging all the drifts whenever he could, and straining his eyes for a sight of welcome signs; "because we need it worse than we ever needed anything before."

He had just succeeded in evading a bad place, and was about to look again in order to learn where his chum might be, when without warning there came two reports in quick succession right beyond a bunch of thick brush and not two hundred feet away.

Elmer immediately started toward the spot as fast as he could go. He thought he heard loud words spoken, and was in a fever of suspense, fearing Lil Artha might have hurt himself, until rounding the obstruction he saw the other standing there, holding his Marlin gun dejectedly while he stared into space.

"Oh! Elmer!" exclaimed the tall scout, as soon as he noticed that his companion was close to him; "a deer, as sure as smoke, and I fired point-blank at him both times; but hang the luck, I must have missed the beggar, for he gave an awful jump, and went off like a streak, worse luck to me for a bungler!"

CHAPTER VII

LIL ARTHA SAVES THE DAY

"That's too bad, Lil Artha," said Elmer, "but no matter, I'm sure you did the best you could."

That was just like Elmer. Plenty of fellows, in the first flush of keen disappointment, would have allowed themselves to speak more or less bitterly, and complain that it must have been rank carelessness that would account for such bad results. But Elmer saw that the tall scout was already suffering keenly; and his first thought was to console him.

At the same time he was looking about, and while the chagrined hunter began to aimlessly open his gun so as to thrust new shells into the barrels, Elmer went on to say: