Phil Bradley's Mountain Boys Part 17

A great wave of relief swept over the boy when he managed to slip in between two of the small trees, and found that he was well protected on all sides from the enraged animal's horns.

In vain did the moose attempt to insert his head between the trees. Phil kicked at him, and continued his shouts. By now he was beginning to feel that the advantage was swinging over to his side. He had done nothing to incur this hostility on the part of the animal, and was surely ent.i.tled to the privilege of defending himself as best he could, even to the extent of inflicting injury on his four-footed enemy.

Perhaps at some time in the past a monster tree had been cut down on this spot, and these second-growth saplings had sprung up in a circle that was wide enough to afford a nimble boy shelter. The towering horns of the moose, more than anything else, rendered it difficult for him to reach Phil.

This second stage of the affair was a decided improvement on the first, Phil a.s.sured himself. At the same time he was not satisfied. He failed to see the fun of being kept a prisoner, cooped up in that limited s.p.a.ce for perhaps hours. It was no fault of his that the moose chanced to be in an ugly humor; and just then, if Phil Bradley had had any sort of firearm along he would have felt justified in dispatching that furious animal. Game laws are good things, but even they must be broken when one's life is placed in jeopardy.

Besides his pocket knife Phil had nothing on his person that could be called a weapon. For once he had even left his hunting knife at the cabin, and bitterly he repented of his unusual thoughtlessness. It would never happen again he told himself, when he realized how helpless he was.

When the moose again started trying to get at him Phil conceived a new hope. It was in the shape of an inspiration, and he watched eagerly in the expectation that such a thing might come to pa.s.s.

What if the moose did find a way to crowd his head between two of the trees, by slanting it sideways; what if in his stupidity he was unable to extricate it again, and could only tug frantically backwards becoming excited and helpless?

That would be turning the tables in great shape. Phil had seen cows confined in stall yokes somewhat after that fas.h.i.+on. He also knew how green turtles are captured in large mesh nets down along the Florida coast streams like Indian River; for the stupid creature, having pa.s.sed its flippers through the net, and being unable to continue the forward movement on account of the bulging sh.e.l.l, simply keeps trying to urge itself on, and never dreaming that it could back out by reversing its flippers.

There was one particular place where Phil thought the chances seemed fairly good that the horns of the moose might pa.s.s through, provided he turned his head the proper way.

In order to try out his scheme he did all in his power to coax the animal to begin operations in that section. For a while it seemed as though the moose persistently avoided the larger opening. Everywhere else he struggled the best he knew how to reach the prisoner of the saplings, even pawing viciously at him with his hoofs.

"I must make a big bluff of meaning to slip out through that hole," Phil told himself; "and when he gets around there perhaps he'll fall into the trap."

This he immediately started to carry out. It worked like a charm, too, for he had barely time to dodge back into his asylum when his captor came up against the tree next the wider opening with a bang.

After that Phil easily led him into making a fresh effort to insert his horned head through that opening. Eagerly the boy watched every move on the part of the determined animal. Twice it looked as though success was about to crown the effort of the moose.

"Keep going!" Phil told him, encouragingly, as he tapped the animal's nose with the toe of his shoe, just to keep his temper up, so he might not get weary of his task; "one good turn deserves another. The third time takes the cake. Just manage to get your old horns through first, and then you can push that big head after, as easy as pie. That's the way. Whoop! he's really done it!"

Of course the moose could not understand the explicit directions which Phil was only too willingly handing him; but by some chance he did manage to get his obstructive horns through, and then follow with his head; though his shoulders would prevent him from going only so far.

Phil thought he had been neatly trapped, and his next move was of course to slip out of the circle by another exit.

"Wonder now if I dare skip out, and leave him there?"

Phil asked himself this as he saw that the moose had already taken the alarm over his condition, and was acting wildly, twisting his head in every direction, and straining to drag it out.

"What if his horns gave way, or broke off? Oh! that time he came within an ace of getting free! He may be smarter than a turtle, and remember how he pushed in. I'd be in a bad box if he did get free, and chased after me again lickety-split!"

Phil believed it was his best policy to stay there, and watch a while longer, just to see what the animal would do. If some time pa.s.sed, and the moose did not seem able to extricate himself from his sad dilemma, then Phil believed he could take his hurried departure; though he meant to snap off a picture of the animal first.

"Might as well do that same now, while I have the chance," he went on to say; and stepping well back to where he could get a fine view of the imprisoned moose, he again made use of his camera to advantage.

Hardly had he done so than he saw the animal twisting his head again in a way that threatened to bring about the catastrophe which Phil dreaded.

In fact the boy had only time to once more hurriedly gain the shelter of the clump of trees when he saw the moose withdraw his head from its yoke.

"Well, it looks like you might be a smart one," muttered Phil, as he found himself once more fast in the trap, with the enraged animal striking at him with his hoofs, and making all sorts of queer noises that might be taken for threats.

When this had gone on for nearly half an hour, and there was no sign of a cessation, Phil started to exercise his wits again. First he began an investigation of his pockets to see if there might not be some means for bringing this ridiculous and uncomfortable situation to an end.

"What's this?" he exclaimed, as he drew forth a small package and stared at it, as if unable on the spur of the moment to understand what it was or how it came to be there; then it flashed upon him, and he gave a wild shout of joy.

"Why, would you believe it, this must be the little paper of black pepper I had in my pack. Lub was asking for some this morning, while cooking breakfast; and when he handed it back to me I must have dropped it in my pocket without thinking what I was doing, meaning to put it on the shelf when I stood up. Hurrah! if ever a pinch of pepper was worth its weight in gold that time is now. It seems mighty cruel to do such a thing, but what else is left to me?"

Of course it was an easy thing to get close enough to the moose to scatter some of the pepper over his head. It did seem a cruel thing to do, and Phil would never tell the story without a feeling of shame; but he considered that his life was at stake, and hence he was justified in going to such extreme measures.

The actions of the bull moose immediately told that the siege was going to be called off without delay. He shook his head, snorted furiously, and then turning galloped away. Phil saw him collide with a tree before he pa.s.sed from view, and the sight caused him to utter an exclamation of pity.

"But he'll pull through it in time," the boy was saying, as he came out of his place of refuge; "by to-morrow it'll be pretty nearly over. I wonder if he's learned a lesson, and will give two-legged strangers a wide berth after this. Well, it was all his own fault. He had no need to get into such a tearing rage because I took his picture. But let me tell you I'm as tired as if I'd been running a ten mile race. Every muscle in my body aches from the sudden jumps I had to give."

Phil felt that on the whole he had come out of the sc.r.a.pe with honors.

And whenever he looked at that picture of the moose with his head fast among the saplings, it would be apt to remind him forcibly of the adventure.

"No more tramping for me to-day," he continued, shaking his head; "I've had good and plenty of it. The rest can wait for another time. Even if I didn't snap off another view all the time I was up here I'd feel it paid me to come; but I've got a few more cards up my sleeve to play. That flashlight business is going to pan out just great, I can see. Now to head for home. I can imagine how the boys' eyes will stare when I tell them what I've been up against, and prove it with that picture."

CHAPTER XIII

HOW "DADDY" CAME BACK

In order to see more of the country Phil took a notion to change his course while heading for the home camp. This turned out to be another of those little things that occasionally happen by accident, but which afterwards seem to have been inspired.

He had not been walking along more than ten or twelve minutes before he came to a sudden pause.

"What under the sun could that have been," he asked himself, listening intently; "sounded as near like a regular groan as anything could be."

Ridiculous as it might seem, Phil even thought of the suffering moose, and wondered whether the distressed animal could have taken shelter in that thick copse, to moan with pain. Then again he heard the strange sound.

"It must be some one's lying there, and in pain!" Phil observed, though the idea gave him a thrill of apprehension.

He stepped closer, and when for the third time the same type of noise welled out of the bushes he made bold to call:

"Who's there? Do you need any help?"

There was a rustling sound. Then the bushes parted, and he saw a man's face peering at him. Phil could not remember ever having seen that face before, and yet it struck him that he ought to be able to give a good guess who the other was going to turn out to be. He had Mazie in his mind just then; her "daddy" was the only man known to be around that neighborhood.

The other beckoned to him, and as Phil approached he went on to say, in a voice that was half m.u.f.fled, both with pain and anxiety:

"Oh! I'm glad that you've come, boy. My leg is broken, and I've got to the point where I can't seem to drag myself another yard. I'm hungry too, and crazy for a drink of water. But I was just making up my mind I might as well give up, and be done with it; because if she's dead there's no use of my living!"

That settled one thing in Phil's mind. The man was Mazie's father.

Already the boy could see that he did not have the look of a villain.

Pain and want had made deep lines on his face, but somehow Phil believed the other was all right.

He could easily imagine what the father must have suffered both in body and mind, with his little daughter lost in that big wilderness, and a broken leg preventing him from searching for her, as he would have wanted to.

Evidently he must be relieved in his mind as speedily as possible.