First at the North Pole: or, Two Boys in the Arctic Circle. Stratemeyer Edward
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mean to Canada?” queried Andy.
“Not exactly. I am going to Greenland, and then into the polar regions. I want to hunt seals, polar bears, and musk oxen.”
“You’ll be frozen to death!”
“Hardly,” answered the hunter. “On my previous trip I stood the cold very well, and this time I shall go much better prepared. Somehow, I like hunting in the Arctic Circle better than hunting anywhere else. Besides, I wish to – But never mind that now,” and Barwell Dawson broke off rather abruptly. Then he told a story of a hunt after polar bears that made Chet’s eyes water.
“That’s the stuff!” whispered Chet to Andy. “That beats a deer hunt all hollow!”
“Yes, provided the polar bear doesn’t eat you up.”
“Huh! I’d not be afraid. I don’t believe a polar bear is any more dangerous than a moose.”
“I saw a moose just before I had the tumble,” said Barwell Dawson. “I climbed up the cliff after him, but I couldn’t get very close. I took two shots at him, but he got away.”
“If we are going to be snowed up here we ought to try for some game,” said Chet. “Maybe I can stir up some rabbits, or something.”
It was decided that he should go out, leaving Andy to look after Mr. Dawson and the campfire.
“But don’t go far,” cautioned Andy. “The snow is coming down so thick that you may get lost.”
“Oh, I’ll take care of myself,” answered Chet.
He knew it would be a bad move to go out into the open, so he kept to the timber, blazing a tree here and there as he went along. He knew very little game would be stirring.
“If I get anything it will be more accident than anything else,” he reasoned. “No animal is going to stir out in this storm.”
He was just passing under a big spruce tree when, chancing to glance up, he saw a sight that quickened his pulse. On a limb close at hand were several wild turkeys, huddled together to keep warm.
With great caution he moved to one side, to get a good aim. Then, raising his gun, he blazed away. There was a whirr and a flutter, and two of the turkeys came down, one dead and the other wounded. Rushing forward, Chet caught the wounded bird by the neck, and soon put it out of its misery.
“That’s a good start,” he told himself, with much satisfaction. “I hope my luck continues.”
Placing the game in his bag, he went forward again, looking for more signs of birds, and also for signs of squirrels and rabbits.
It was growing dark, and Chet began to think it was time to turn back, when he saw some rabbits in a thick clump of bushes. He sprang in after them, and they leaped out into the snow and across a small opening. Then, before he could fire, they were out of sight again.
“You shan’t get away from me as easily as that,” the youth muttered to himself, and ran out into the opening. Here the snow was so thick he could see but little, yet he kept on, and soon reached more brushwood. He saw some branches close to the snow move, and blazed away in the dark.
His aim proved true, for when he came up he found one rabbit dead. Another had been wounded, as the blood on the snow showed. In all haste he made after the limping game. But the rabbit had considerable life left in it, and dove deep into the brushwood. But at last it had to give up, and Chet secured the additional game without much trouble.
It had grown dark rapidly, and in some anxiety the young hunter turned back, in an endeavor to retrace his steps. This was no easy matter, for the snow was coming down as thickly as ever, and he could scarcely see two yards ahead of him.
“It won’t do for me to get lost out here,” he reasoned. “If I don’t get back, Andy will be worried to death.”
Bending to meet the snow – for the wind was now blowing briskly, Chet pushed forward until another clump of trees was gained. Walking was becoming irksome, and he panted for breath. Under the trees he paused to get his bearings.
“I must be right,” he thought. Yet, try his best, he could not locate any of the trees he had blazed a short while before.
Any other lad might have become frightened at the prospect, but Chet was used to being alone, and he simply resolved to move forward with increased caution.
“If the worst comes, I can fire three shots in succession. Andy will know what that means,” he reasoned. On previous trips to the woods the boys had arranged that three shots meant, “I am lost. Where are you?” A single shot was to be the answer – repeated, of course, as often as necessary.
Another hundred feet were covered, and Chet was looking vainly for one of the blazed trees, when an unexpected sound broke upon his ears.
It was an unusual and uncanny noise, and he stopped short to listen. It came from a clump of spruces to his left.
“Now, what can that be?” he asked himself. “I never heard a noise like that before.”
He listened, and presently the sound was repeated. To him it seemed as if some unseen giant were in deep distress.
Chet was not superstitious, or he might have thought he heard a ghost. He knew there must be some rational reason for the unusual noise, and he resolved to investigate.
“Anybody there?” he cried, as he raised his gun in front of him, and tried to peer through the snow-laden air.
There was no answer, nor was the peculiar sound repeated. With cautious steps he advanced toward the clump of spruces. Underneath all was now as dark as night could make it.
Again he paused, something warning him to be extra cautious. His nerves were now at a high tension, for he felt something unusual was coming.
An instant later it came. Through the snow and darkness Chet caught a momentary gleam of a pair of eyes shining like two balls of fire. Then a bulky form shot out of the darkness, and bumped up against him, hurling him flat. Ere he could arise, the form leaped over him, and went limping off, puffing and snorting as it did so.
“A moose!” gasped Chet, as he felt in the snow for his gun. “And wounded! It must be the one Mr. Dawson tried to get!”
He thought the big beast was retreating, but soon found out otherwise. The moose was badly wounded, and ugly in the extreme. Around he wheeled, and then came straight for Chet. The lad could not locate his gun, and, feeling his peril, darted for the nearest tree and leaped high up among the branches.
CHAPTER VII – CHET AND THE MOOSE
“Phew! that was a narrow escape!”
Such were Chet’s words as he drew himself higher up into the tree. The big beast below had come up, and struck the tree a blow that made it shiver from top to bottom. Had he not been holding on tightly the boy would have been hurled down, and at the very feet of the moose.
The animal was full-grown, powerful, and with wide and heavy antlers. He had been wounded in one of the forelegs, but was still able to stand. Now he stood under the spruce, on three legs, gazing up at Chet speculatively.
“Like to smash me, wouldn’t you?” murmured the youth. “Well, I guess not – not if I know it!”
Chet wished with all his heart that he had his gun. But the weapon was out of sight under the snow, and the moose was standing over the spot.
What to do next, the lad did not know. The moose did not show any inclination to leave. He breathed heavily, as if his wound hurt him, but Chet was certain that there was still a good deal of fight in the creature.
“Perhaps he’ll keep me here all night,” thought the boy, dismally.
Presently an idea came to him to call for help. Andy might hear him, and come up with his gun.
“That shelter is a long way off, but it won’t do any harm to try it,” Chet reasoned, and expanding his chest, he let out a yell at the top of his lung power. He repeated the cry several times, and then listened