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Updated: June 7, 2025
Then, as he sprang for the camp-door, four words stumbled from his lips: "By thunder! it's Chris." The silence which followed that ejaculation was like the hush of earth before a thunder-storm. Not a syllable passed the lips of the boys as they followed Herb into the log hut, but feeling seemed wagging a startled tongue in each finger-tip which convulsively pressed the rifles.
And his proficiency in this line was a good foundation on which to work. "You'll get there, boy," said Herb, surveying him with approval, as he stood outside the camp-door with the moose-horn to his lips. "Make believe that there's a moose on the opposite shore of the lake now, and give the whole call, from start to finish."
When the taste as well as the smell had been enjoyed, the rest which followed by the blazing birch-logs that evening was so full of bliss that each camper felt as if existence had at last drifted to a point of superb content. Their camp-door stood open for ventilation; and a keen touch of frost, mingling with the night air which entered, made the fragrant warmth delightful.
The boys, who had been stretched out in comfortable positions, drew themselves bolt upright, and sat aghast. They stared towards the camp-door, murmuring disjointedly. Into the mind of each flashed a remembrance of some story which Doctor Phil had told about a thieving partner who once robbed Herb Heal. "You've stirred up more than you bargained for, Dol," said Cyrus.
His comrades had already disappeared when he turned and sprang for the camp-door with his limp burden, but his moccasined foot kicked against something. A great hiccough which was almost a sob rose from Herb's throat. It was his one valuable possession, his 45-90 Winchester rifle, his second self, which he had rested against the log wall. "Good-by, Old Blazes!" he grunted.
His mouth was dry as a board, and he gasped painfully for breath, as he stumbled against the camp-door; and the roar of the flood was in his ears. Unable to speak at first, he battered furiously on the door with an axe, and then smashed in the window. As the men came jumping wrathfully from their bunks, he found voice to yell: "The water! Dam broke! Run! Run!"
Their gray was dark and troubled; the black pupils seemed to shrink, as if a tempest beat on them; fierce flashes of light played through them. Muttering a half-smothered oath, Herb flung himself off his bench, stamped across the cabin to the open camp-door, and passed into the darkness outside.
The trio ate joyously, washing the fare down with big draughts of tea, rather fussily prepared by Neal, which might have "done credit to many a Boston woman's afternoon tea-table" so young Garst said. Yet from time to time longing looks were cast at the low camp-door.
He had been doing his work with a candle held in his brown fingers; but as dawn-light began to enter the cabin, he quenched its dingy, yellow flicker, opened the camp-door, and surveyed the morning sky. "It'll be a good day to start out, I guess," he muttered. "Let's see, what time is it?"
The evening proved clear, chilly, and still. "Is this a likely night for calling, Herb?" asked Cyrus anxiously, taking a survey of sky and lake from the camp-door about an hour before the start. "Fine," answered Herb with satisfaction. "Guess we'll get an answer sure, if there's a moose within hearing. There ain't a puff of wind to carry our scent, and give the trick away.
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