The Best Ballantyne Westerns. R. M. Ballantyne

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СКАЧАТЬ trigger,” said Harry, kneeling down in front of the door; while the accountant, as directed, lifted up the log on which the others lay so as to allow his companion to introduce the bait-stick, in such a manner as to support it, while the slightest pull on the bait would set the stick with the notches free, and thus permit the log to fall on the back of the fox, whose effort to reach the bait would necessarily place him under it.

      While Harry was thus engaged, the accountant stood up and looked towards the foxes. They had approached so near in their curiosity that he was induced to throw his axe frantically at the foremost of the pack. This set them galloping off, but they soon halted, and sat down as before.

      “What aggravating brutes they are, to be sure!” said Harry, with a laugh, as his companion returned with the hatchet.

      “Humph! yes, but we’ll be upsides with them yet. Come along into the wood, and I wager that in ten minutes we shall have one.”

      They immediately hurried towards the wood, but had not walked fifty paces when they were startled by a loud yell behind them.

      “Dear me!” exclaimed the accountant, while he and Harry turned round with a start. “It cannot surely be possible that they have gone in already.” A loud howl followed the remark, and the whole pack fled over the plain like snow-drift, and disappeared.

      “Ah, that’s a pity! something must have scared them to make them take wing like that. However, we’ll get one to-morrow for certain; so come along, lad, let us make for the camp.”

      “Not so fast,” replied the other: “if you hadn’t pored over the big ledger till you were blind, you would see that there is one prisoner already.”

      This proved to be the case. On returning to the spot they found an arctic fox in his last gasp, lying flat on the snow, with the heavy log across his back, which seemed to be broken. A slight tap on the snout with the accountant’s deadly axe-handle completed his destruction.

      “We’re in luck to-night,” cried Harry, as he kneeled again to reset the trap. “But, after all, these white brutes are worth very little; I fancy a hundred of their skins would not be worth the black one you got first.”

      “Be quick, Harry; the moon is almost down, and poor Hamilton will think that the polar bears have got hold of us.”

      “All right! Now, then, step out;” and glancing once more at the trap to see that all was properly arranged, the two friends once more turned their faces homewards, and travelled over the snow with rapid strides.

      The moon had just set, leaving the desolate scene in deep gloom, so that they could scarcely find their way to the forest; and when they did at last reach its shelter, the night became so intensely dark that they had almost to grope their way, and would certainly have lost it altogether were it not for the accountant’s thorough knowledge of the locality. To add to their discomfort, as they stumbled on snow began to fall, and ere long a pretty steady breeze of wind drove it sharply in their faces. However, this mattered but little, as they penetrated deeper in among the trees, which proved a complete shelter both from wind and snow. An hour’s march brought them to the mouth of the brook, although half that time would have been sufficient had it been daylight, and a few minutes later they had the satisfaction of hearing Hamilton’s voice hailing them as they pushed aside the bushes and sprang into the cheerful light of their encampment.

      “Hurrah!” shouted Harry, as he leaped into the space before the fire, and flung the two foxes at Hamilton’s feet. “What do you think of that, old fellow? How are the heels? Rather sore, eh? Now for the kettle. ‘Polly, put the kettle on; we’ll all have—’ My eye! where’s the kettle, Hamilton? have you eaten it?”

      “If you compose yourself a little, Harry, and look at the fire, you’ll see it boiling there.”

      “Man, what a chap you are for making unnecessary speeches! Couldn’t you tell me to look at the fire, without the preliminary piece of advice to compose myself! Besides, you talk nonsense, for I’m composed already, of blood, bones, flesh, sinews, fat, and—”

      “Humbug!” interrupted the accountant. “Lend a hand to get supper, you young goose!”

      “And so,” continued Harry, not noticing the interruption, “I cannot be expected, nor is it necessary, to compose myself over again. But to be serious,” he added, “it was very kind and considerate of you, Hammy, to put on the kettle, when your heels were in a manner uppermost.”

      “Oh, it was nothing at all; my heels are much better, thank you, and it kept me from wearying.”

      “Poor fellow!” said the accountant, while he busied himself in preparing their evening meal, “you must be quite ravenous by this time—at least I am, which is the same thing.”

      Supper was soon ready. It consisted of a large kettle of tea, a lump of pemmican, a handful of broken biscuit, and three ptarmigan,—all of which were produced from the small wooden box which the accountant was wont to call his camp-larder. The ptarmigan had been shot two weeks before, and carefully laid up for future use; the intense frost being a sufficient guarantee for their preservation for many months, had that been desired.

      It would have done you good, reader (supposing you to be possessed of sympathetic feelings), to have witnessed those three nor’-westers enjoying their supper in the snowy camp. The fire had been replenished with logs, till it roared and crackled again, as if it were endued with a vicious spirit, and wished to set the very snow in flames. The walls shone like alabaster studded with diamonds, while the green boughs overhead and the stems around were of a deep red colour in the light of the fierce blaze. The tea-kettle hissed, fumed, and boiled over into the fire. A mass of pemmican simmered in the lid in front of it. Three pannikins of tea reposed on the green branches, their refreshing contents sending up little clouds of steam, while the ptarmigan, now split up, skewered, and roasted, were being heartily devoured by our three hungry friends.

      The pleasures that fall to the lot of man are transient. Doubtless they are numerous and oft recurring; still they are transient, and so—supper came to an end.

      “Now for a pipe,” said the accountant, disposing his limbs at full length on a green blanket. “O thou precious weed, what should we do without thee!”

      “Smoke tea, to be sure,” answered Harry.

      “Ah! true, it is possible to exist on a pipe of tea-leaves for a time, but only for a time. I tried it myself once, in desperation, when I ran short of tobacco on a journey, and found it execrable, but better than nothing.”

      “Pity we can’t join you in that,” remarked Harry.

      “True; but perhaps since you cannot pipe, it might prove an agreeable diversification to dance.”

      “Thank you, I’d rather not,” said Harry; “and as for Hamilton, I’m convinced that his mind is made up on the subject.—How go the heels now?”

      “Thank you, pretty well,” he replied, reclining his head on the pine branches, and extending his smitten members towards the fire. “I think they will be quite well in the morning.”

      “It is a curious thing,” remarked the accountant, in a soliloquising tone, “that soft fellows never smoke!”

      “I beg your pardon,” said Harry, “I’ve often seen hot loaves smoke, and they’re soft enough fellows, in all conscience!”

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