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“Truly you keep your good wine for the last, Stranion,” said Ranolf.
“Can Sam do as well, I wonder?” inquired Queerman.
“No, he can’t!” said Sam positively. “But he can give you something humorsome, at least, to relieve this tragic strain. It’s about a bear, of course. I’m very glad my bears hold out so well. This story is called, —
‘BRUIN’S BOXING-MATCH.’
“It was a dreamy, sun-drenched September afternoon. The wide, shallow river was rippling with a mellow noise over its golden pebbles. Back from the river, upon both banks, the yellow grain-fields and blue-green patches of turnips slanted gently to the foot of the wooded hills. A little distance down stream stood two horses, fetlock-deep in the water, drinking.
“Near the top of the bank, where the gravel had thinned off into yellow sand, and the sand was beginning to bristle with the scrubby bushes of the sand-plum, lay the trunk of an ancient oak-tree. In the effort to split this gnarled and seasoned timber, Jake Simmons and I were expending the utmost of our energies. Our axes had proved unequal to the enterprise, so we had been at last compelled to call in the aid of a heavy mall and hardwood wedges.
“With the axes we had accomplished a slight split in one end of the prostrate giant. An axe-blade held this open while we inserted a hardwood wedge, which we drove home with repeated blows of the mall till the crack was widened, whereupon, of course, the axe dropped out.
“The mall – a huge, long-handled mallet, so heavy as to require both hands to wield it – was made of the sawed-off end of a small oak log, and was bound around with two hoops of wrought iron to keep it from splitting. This implement was wielded by Jake, with a skill born of years in the backwoods.
“Suddenly, as Jake was delivering a tremendous blow on the head of the wedge, the mall flew off its handle, and pounded down the bank, making the sand and gravel fly in a way that bore eloquent witness to Jake’s vigor. The sinewy old woodsman toppled over, and, losing his balance, sat down in a thicket of sand-plums.
“Of course I laughed, and so did Jake; but our temperate mirth quieted down, and Jake, picking himself up out of the sand-plums, went to re-capture the errant mall. As he set it down on the timber, and proceeded to refit the handle to it, he was all at once quite overcome with merriment. He laughed and laughed, not loudly, but with convulsive inward spasms, till I began to feel indignant at him. When mirth is not contagious, it is always exasperating. Presently he sat down on the log and gasped, holding his sides.
“‘Don’t be such an old fool, Jake,’ said I rudely; at which he began to laugh again, with the intolerable relish of one who holds the monopoly of a joke.
“‘I don’t see anything so excruciatingly funny,’ I grumbled, ‘in the head flying off of an old mall, and a long-legged old idiot sitting down hard in the sand-plum patch. That mall might just as well as not have hit me on the head, and maybe you’d have called that the best joke of the season.’
“‘Bless your sober soul!’ answered Jake, ‘it ain’t that I’m laughing at.’
“I was not going to give him the satisfaction of asking him for his story, so I proceeded to fix a new wedge, and hammer it in with my axe. Jake was too full of his reminiscence to be chilled by my apparent lack of interest. Presently he drew out a short pipe, filled it with tobacco, and remarked —
“‘When I picked up that there mall-head, I was reminded of something I saw once up in the Madawaska woods that struck me as just about the funniest I ever heard tell of. I ’most died laughing over it at the time, and whenever I think of it even now it breaks me all up.’
“Here he paused and eyed me.
“‘But I don’t believe you’d see anything funny in it, because you didn’t see it,’ he continued in his slow and drawling tones ‘so I reckon I won’t bother telling you.’
“Then he picked up the handle of the mall as if to resume work.
“I still kept silence, resolved not to ask for the story. Jake was full of anecdotes picked up in the lumbering-camps; and though he was a good workman, he would gladly stop any time to smoke his pipe, or to tell a story.
“But he kept chuckling over his own thoughts until I couldn’t do a stroke of work. I saw I had to give in, and I surrendered.
“‘Oh, go along and let’s have it!’ said I, dropping the axe, and seating myself on the log in an attitude of most inviting attention.
“This encouragement was what Jake was waiting for.
“‘Did you ever see a bear box?’ he inquired. I had seen some performances of that sort; but as Jake took it for granted I hadn’t, and didn’t wait for a reply, I refrained from saying so.
“‘Well, a bear can box some, now I tell you. But I’ve seen one clean knocked out by an old mall without a handle, just like this one here; and there wasn’t any man at the end of it either.’
“Here Jake paused to indulge in a prolonged chuckle as the scene unrolled itself anew before his mind’s eye.
“‘It happened this way: A couple of us were splitting slabs in the Madawaska woods along in the fall, when, all of a sudden, the head of the mall flew off, as this ’ere one did. Bill, however, – Bill Goodin was the name of the fellow with me, – wasn’t so lucky as you were in getting out of the way. The mall struck a tree, glanced, and took Bill on the side of the knee. It keeled him over so he couldn’t do any more work that day, and I had to help him back to the camp. Before we left, I took a bit of codline out of my pocket, ran it through the eye, and strung the mall up to a branch so it would be easier to find when I wanted it.
“‘It was maybe a week before I went for that mall, – a little more than a week, I should say; and then, it being of a Sunday afternoon, when there was no work to do, and Bill’s leg being so much better that he could hobble alone, he and I thought we’d stroll over to where we’d been splitting, and bring the mall in to camp.
“‘When we got pretty near the place, and could see through the trees the mall hanging there where we had left it, Bill all of a sudden grabbed me sharp by the arm, and whispered, “Keep still!”
“‘“What is it?” said I, under my breath, looking all around.
“‘“Use your eyes if you’ve got any,” said he; and I stared through the branches in the direction he was looking. But there was a trunk in the way. As soon as I moved my head a bit, I saw what he was watching. There was a fine young bear sitting back on his haunches, and looking at the mall as if he didn’t know what to make of it. Probably that bear had once been hurt in a trap, and so had grown suspicious. That there mall hanging from the limb of a tree was something different from anything he’d ever seen before. Wondering what he was going to do, we crept a little nearer, without makin’ any noise, and crouched down behind a spruce bush.
“‘The bear was maybe a couple of yards from the mall, and watching it as if he thought it might get down any moment and come at him. A little gust of wind came through the trees and set the mall swinging a bit. He didn’t like this, and backed off a few feet. The mall swung some more, and he drew off still farther; and as soon as it was quite still again, he sidled around it at a prudent distance, and investigated it from the other side of the tree.
“‘“The blame fool is scared of it,” whispered Bill scornfully; “let’s fling a rock at him!”
“‘“No,” said I, knowing bears pretty well; “let’s wait and see what he’s going to do.”
“‘Well, when the mall had been pretty still for a minute or two, the bear appeared to make up his mind it didn’t amount to much after all; he came right close up to it as bold as you like, and pawed it kind of inquiringly. The mall swung away; and being hung short, it came back quick, and took the bear a smart rap on the nose.
“‘Bill and I both snickered, but the bear didn’t hear us. He was mad right off, and with a snort he hit the mall a pretty good cuff; back it came like greased lightning, and took him again square on the snout with a whack that must have made him just see stars.
“‘Bill and I could hardly hold ourselves; but even if we had laughed right out I don’t believe that bear would have noticed us, he was so mad. You know a bear’s snout is mighty tender. Well, he grunted and snorted, and rooted around in the leaves a bit, and then went back at the mall as if he was just going to knock it into the other side of to-morrow. He stood up to it, and he did hit it so hard that it seemed to disappear for half a second. It swung right over the limb; and, while he was looking for it, it came down on the top of his head. Great Scott! how he roared! And then, scratching his head with one paw, he went at it again with the other, and hit it just the same way he’d hit it before. I tell you, Bill and I pretty near burst as we saw that mall fly over the limb again and come down on the top of his head just like the first time. You’d have thought it would have cracked his skull; but a bear’s head is as hard as they make them.
“‘This time the bear, after rubbing his head and his snout, and rooting some more in the leaves, sat back and seemed to consider. In a second or two he went up to the mall, and tried to take hold of it with one paw; of course it slipped right away, and you’d have thought it was alive to see the sharp way it dodged back and caught him again on the nose. It wasn’t much of a whack this time, but that nose was tender enough then! And the bear got desperate. He grabbed for the mall with both paws; and that way, of course, he got it. With one pull he snapped the codline, and the victory was his.
“‘After tumbling the mall about for a while, trying to chew it and claw it to pieces, and getting nothing to show for his labor, he appeared absolutely disgusted. He sat down and glared at the bit of iron-bound oak lying so innocent in the leaves, and kept feeling at his snout in a puzzled sort of way. Then all of a sudden he gave it up as a bad job, and ambled off into the woods in a hurry as if he had just remembered something.’”
This story had called forth a running commentary of appreciative chuckling. When it ended, every one was in a merry humor.
“I think,” remarked Queerman, “that I, too, have kept one of my best stories for the last. At least, it seems the best to me; and I hope you fellows won’t think it the worst, anyway.”
“We’ll tell you about that after we hear it,” said Magnus.
“Well, here goes,” continued Queerman. “My title is —
‘THE RAFT RIVALS.’
“The last log of Thériault’s ‘drive,’ not counting a few sticks hopelessly ‘hung up’ on far-off Squatook Shoals, had been captured in the amber eddies of the Lower Basin below Grand Falls, and had been safely pinned into the great raft which was just about to start on its leisurely voyage down the river to the shrieking saws of Fredericton.
“‘This ’ere’s as purty a site fur pinnin’ up a raft as ever I sot eyes on!” remarked Ben Smithers, thrusting his hand into his gray-blue homespun breeches for his fig of ‘black-jack.’
“Ben was sitting on a rock near the water’s edge. No one made answer to his remark, which was perhaps regarded as too obvious to call for comment. Presently a large black dog, as if unwilling that any grain of wisdom should drop from his master’s lips unheeded, thrust his head into Ben’s lap, and uttered a short bark.
“For perhaps half an hour Ben Smithers and his fellows sat on the shore or lounged about the raft, smoking and whittling, and not one complained of the delay. The rafts which Thériault had already despatched down the river, each requiring two or three hands to navigate it through the rapids, had thinned the numbers of the drive down to not more than ten men, all of whom were bound for Fredericton on this very raft.
“Presently one of the hands took the pipe from his mouth, tapped it gently on a log to remove the ashes, and remarked, ‘Here they be!’
“A wagon was descending the precipitous road which led from the unseen village to the beach. An apprehensive looking horse between the shafts hung back warily upon the breeching, and a red-shirted lumberman clung doggedly to one of the wheels. At the anxious horse’s head trudged a boy; and behind or beside the wagon, as pleased her fancy, there danced a five-year-old child, her long yellow hair and bright pink frock making her look like some strange kind of butterfly.
“As their eyes fell on the little creature a grin of rough tenderness flashed out on the faces of the gang. Little Mame Thériault, who came with this wagon-load of supplies for the gang, and who was to accompany the raft down the river, at once became the pet of the drive. Her father, a young widower, took her wherever it was possible, and her baby hands were dispensers of gentleness throughout the roughest gangs.
“Only Jake, the dog, refused his tribute of homage. Jake’s heart was sore within him, for he was jealous of little Mame.
“Jake was a dog among ten thousand. He possessed countless accomplishments, and was ever athirst to learn more. His intelligence was such that ‘cute as Jake’ had become a current phrase of compliment with Ben Smithers and his comrades. Wholly devoted to his master, he was at the same time hail-fellow-well-met with all hands.
“Until Mame’s appearance on the scene, Jake had reigned without a rival. Now it was quite different. The hands, though as respectful as ever, seemed strangely forgetful of his presence at times; and with Ben, when Mame was by, his place had become secondary, and all his eager affection seemed to go as a matter of course. Ordinarily Jake would have liked well to make a playmate of Mame; but as it was – never!
“The whole party had got aboard, and the raft was shoved off into the current. In the middle of the structure stood a rough, temporary shanty of hemlock slabs, with an elbow of rusted stovepipe projecting through the roof. Within this shelter the cook presided, and two or three bunks gave accommodation for part of the gang. The others, including of course Mame and her father, looked to more luxurious sleeping quarters in the settlements along shore.
“Mame was enchanted with her surroundings, – with the shores slipping smoothly past, with the ripples washing up between the logs, with the dashes of spray over the windward edges of the raft, with the steersmen tugging on the great sweeps, and last, but by no means least, with the wide sheets of glossy gingerbread which the cook in his little house was producing for her particular gratification.
“She had never before experienced the delight of a raft voyage. She skipped from side to side on her swift but unsteady little feet, and all hands were kept anxiously alert to prevent her from falling into the water.
“Several times she made playful advances to the big dog, throwing herself down on the logs beside him, and scattering her yellow curls over his black and crinkly coat; but Jake, after a reluctant wagging of his tail, as if to indicate that his action was based on principle, and not on any ill-will toward herself, invariably got up and made a reserved withdrawal to some remoter corner of the raft. Thériault noticed this, as he had done on previous occasions, and it seemed to vex him.
“‘I don’t see what Jake’s got agin the child that he won’t let her play with him,’ he remarked half-crossly.
“‘Oh, I guess it’s ’cause he ain’t no ways used ter children, an’ he’s kinder afeared o’ breakin’ her,’ Ben Smithers responded laughingly.
“Jake had caught the irritation in the boss’s tone, and had vaguely comprehended it. Upon the boss his resentment was tending to concentrate itself. He could harbor no real ill-feeling toward the child, but upon Luke Thériault he seemed to lay the whole blame for his dethronement.
“Toward noon the breeze died down, and the heat grew fierce. The yellow-pink gum began to soften and trickle on the sunny sides of the logs, and great fragrant beads of balsam to ooze out from every axe-wound. The gang clustered, as far as possible, under the insufficient shade of the cook-house, in loosely sprawling attitudes, – hats off and shirt-bosoms thrown wide open. Jake got down on the lowermost tier of logs, and lay panting in a couple of inches of water, surrounded by floating bits of bark and iridescent patches of balsam scum.
“As for Mame, her pink frock by this time was pretty well bedraggled, and frock and hands alike smeared and blackened with balsam. Her sturdy little copper-toed boots were water-soaked. The heat had a suppressing effect even upon her, and she spent much of the time in Ben’s lap in the shade of the cook-house; but now and then she would rouse herself to renewed excursions, and torment the raftsmen’s weather-beaten breasts with fresh alarms.
“The river at this part of its course was full of shoals and cross-currents, calling for a skilful pilot; and Thériault kept sweltering about the open raft rather than trust the steering to less responsible hands.
“Just as the cook, with parboiled countenance, came to the door of his den to announce the dinner, Mame had run to Jake’s retreat, and crawled down upon the panting animal’s back.
“This contributed not at all to Jake’s coolness, and he felt seriously disturbed by the intrusion. Slipping from under as gently as he could, he moved away in vexation, and Mame rolled in the shallow water.
“She picked herself up, wet and whimpering; and Thériault, who happened to be standing close by, spoke angrily to the dog, and gave him a sharp kick.
“For Jake this was a new and startling experience. He could hardly resist the temptation to spring upon his insulter, and pin him to the raft. Too wise for this, however, he merely stiffened himself to his full height with a sudden, deep growl, and rolled a significant side glance upon his assailant.
“The boss was astonished. At the same time he was just a little startled, which made him still more angry, and he shouted, —
“‘Don’t you snarl at me, you brute, or I’ll kick you off o’ the raft!’
“Ben Smithers interposed. ‘Don’t kick him agin, boss!’ he exclaimed. ‘I don’t mean no disrespec’, but Jake ain’t never had no kicks an’ cuffs, an’ I’d ruther he didn’t have none, ’less he desarves ’em. He don’t know now what you kicked him fur, an’ he’s only protestin’. He wouldn’t hurt a hair o’ yer head; an’ ez fur Mame, howsomever he may keep outen her way in this ’ere heat, I’d jest like ter see anythin’ try ter tech her onkind when Jake war ’round. You’d see then who was Mame’s friend!’
“During Ben’s expostulation Thériault had cooled down. He laughed a little awkwardly, and acknowledged that he ‘hadn’t no call, under the circumstances, to kick the dog;’ but at the same time it was with no glance of affection that he eyed Jake during dinner.
“When the meal was over he cautioned Mame so severely that the child began to look upon the dog as a bloodthirsty monster, and thereafter Jake was persecuted no more with her attentions.
“The poor dog was none the happier on this account. Unheeded by his master, who through most of the afternoon kept nursing the wearied child in his lap, the poor animal lay grieving on a far-off corner of the raft.
“Late in the afternoon the raft entered the succession of rapids lying below the mouth of the Munquauk. There are few shoals here, but the steering is difficult by reason of turbulent water and cross currents. About this time, than which none could be more inopportune, little Mame woke to new life, and resumed her perilous flittings about the raft. The men who were not needed at the sweeps were kept busy in pursuit of her. The swift motion, the tremblings of the raft, the tumult of the currents, – these all enchanted and exhilarated the child. Like a golden-crowned fairy, she balanced tiptoe upon the upper logs, clapping her stained little hands, her hair blown all about her face.
“Suddenly forsaking Ben’s company, she started toward her father, where he stood at the stern of the raft, directing the steersmen. The father reached out his hands to her, laughing. She was within three or four feet of him, but she chose to tantalize him a little. She darted to one side, pausing on the very edge of the raft.
“At this moment the timbers lurched under a heavy swell. Mame lost her balance, and with a shrill cry of terror she fell into the pitching current.
“A mingled groan and prayer went up all over the raft; and Thériault and one of the hands, a big woodsman named Vandine, plunged in to the rescue. Ben Smithers was not a swimmer, and he could only stand and wring his hands.
“Thériault and the other who had sprung in were both strong swimmers; but a narrow surface current had seized Mame’s small form, and whirled it far away from the raft, while the heavy bodies of the men, grasped by the under-current, were forced in a different direction.
“Thériault’s face grew ghastly and drawn as he saw the distance between himself and his child slowly widening. His desperate efforts could not carry him away from the raft, and he marked that Vandine was no more successful than he. A choking spasm tightened about his throat, and he gave a keen, sobbing cry of anguish as he saw the little pink-frocked form go under for the first time.
“Then a great black body shot into the air above his head, and landed with a splash far beyond him. ‘Jake!’ he thought instantly; and a thankful sigh went up from his heart. Now he began to care once more about keeping his own head above water.
“Jake was late in noticing the catastrophe. He had been deep in a sullen and heavy sleep. When the cries awoke him he yawned, and then mounted a log to take a survey of the situation. In a second or two he caught sight of the pink frock tossing in the waves, and of the little hands flung up in appeal.
“His instantaneous and tremendous rush carried him far out from the raft, and then his pure Newfoundland blood made him master of the situation.
“Little he cared for the tumult and the white-capped waves! His sinewy shoulders and broad-webbed feet drove him straight through cross-current and eddy to where the child had sunk. When she came up he was within five feet of her, and with a quick plunge he caught her by the shoulder.
“And now Jake’s difficulties began. In quieter waters he would have found no trouble, but here he was unable to choose his hold. The men saw him let go of the child’s shoulder, snatch a mouthful of the frock, and start for the raft.
“In this position Mame’s head passed under water, and all hands were in a panic lest she should drown before Jake could get her in. But the dog dropped his burden yet again, seized the little one by the upper part of the arm, and in this position was able to hold her head clear.
“But it was a trying position. To maintain it, Jake had to swim high, and to set his teeth with pitiless firmness into the child’s tender arm. The wave-crests slapped ceaselessly in his face, half-choking him, and strangling Mame’s cries every instant.
“Thériault and Vandine were by this time so exhausted as to be quite powerless, and were with difficulty pulled back upon the raft. There stood all hands straining their gaze upon the gallant dog’s progress. Ben Smithers waited, with a pike-pole, on the very edge of the timbers, ready to hook the steel into Mame’s frock, and lift her aboard the moment Jake got within reach.
“Slowly battling with the waves, Jake and his precious burden drew near the raft. Already Ben Smithers was reaching out his pike-pole. Suddenly there was a crash, and the raft stopped short, quivering, while the waves poured over its upper edge. The timbers of the farther inshore corner had run aground and wedged fast.
“There was a moment of bewildering suspense, while Jake and his charge were swept swiftly past the hands stretched out to save them. Then the raft broke into two parts, and the larger outside portion swung out across the main current and drove straight down upon the swimmer.
“With a cry the raftsmen threw themselves flat on the logs, grasped at the dog, and succeeded in snatching the now silent child to a place of safety.
“Jake had just got his fore-paws over the logs when the mass drove down upon his body. His head went back under the water; and Ben, who had a firm grip in the long hair of his pet’s fore shoulders, was himself well nigh dragged overboard. Two of his comrades, throwing themselves on the logs beside him, plunged down their arms into the boiling foam and got hold of the helpless dog, and, almost lifeless, Jake was laid upon the raft.
“Feebly wagging his tail, the noble fellow lay with his head in Ben Smithers’s lap, while the strength returned to his sinews, and the breath found its way again to the depths of his laboring lungs. As the gang gathered about, and a babel arose of praise and sympathy, Jake seemed to appreciate the tribute.
“When the boss had seen his child put safely and warmly to bed in the cook’s bunk, he rushed forward and threw himself down beside Ben Smithers. He embraced Jake’s dripping body, burying his face in the wet black ringlets, and speaking words of gratitude as fast as he could utter them.
“All this, though passionately sincere, and to Ben highly satisfactory and appropriate, was to Jake a plain annoyance. He knew nothing of the delights of reconcilement, or of the beauty of an effective situation, and he failed to respond. He simply didn’t like Thériault. He endured the endearments for a little, gazing straight into Ben’s face with a piteous appeal. Then he staggered to his feet, dragged himself around to the other side of his master, and thrust his big wet head under the shield of Ben’s ample arm.
“Thériault laughed good-naturedly and rose to his feet. ‘Poor Jake!’ he murmured, ‘I ain’t goin’ to persecute him with no more thanks, seein’ he don’t greatly enjoy it. But I can tell you, Ben Smithers, what a mistake I made this morning, an’ how it sticks in my crop now to think on it.’
“Here the boss thrust out his hand, and Ben Smithers grasped it cordially. It was a general understanding that the boss thus apologized to Jake for his behavior in the morning, and that thus Jake duly accepted the apology. Jake was expected to understand the proceeding as the gang did, and to abide by it. No atom of surprise was felt, therefore, when, after the lapse of a day, it became plain that Jake and the boss were on the best of terms, with Mame in her proper place of idolized and caressed subordination.”
“That Jake was not all unworthy to sit with Jeff and Dan,” said I, as Queerman ended.
“No,” said Ranolf; “he was a prince among dogs.”
After this we told no more stories. I, who had all the records in charge, made my report, giving statistics as to fish caught, miles travelled, localities of camps, and so forth, as well as the names and tellers of all the stories. The report proving satisfactory, we sang “Home, Sweet Home” and “Auld Lang Syne,” standing around the camp-fire. Then, somewhat soberly, we turned in.
Right after breakfast on the following morning we put our canoes on the train, and were soon whirling homeward, proud in the consciousness of sunburned skins, alarming appetites, and renovated digestions.