One side of the cabin had a couple of rude but serviceable bunks built in the wall. Here the boys arranged their blankets; and thus prepared to put in their first night in camp with a roof over their heads.
They already saw where they would have numerous things to do in order to feel comfortable when the snows of early winter struck them; but there would be plenty of time for all that, as the days glided on.
After all, the night proved to be a quiet one, in spite of Tom's expressed fear that the swinging body of the cat might attract others of its species, who, gathering around, might think to hold a regular "wake" over the remains.
In fact, neither of them heard anything from the time they lay down until dawn came, and with it a desire for breakfast.
Feeling considerably refreshed, the two comrades set about accomplishing some of the numerous duties that had been laid out for the day.
Breakfast disposed of, they started to fix up the interior of the dugout shack, so as to make it seem more comfortable. Dozens of little things needed to be done. The roof showed signs of wear in several places, and had to be patched against the time when the cold winds would whistle and moan around the corners the livelong night, trying to get a nip at their toes and fingers.
During the morning, then, they were constantly busy, and before noon came around the camp looked a thousand per cent more cheerful.
"Begins to seem like somebody lived here, eh?" remarked Tom, as he looked about him with a satisfied air; he was rather "fussy" about how he did things, never being content to have them just "passable;" the best was none too good for him, Tom always declared; meaning that if anything was worth doing at all, it was worth doing well.
Tom had taken off the skin of the wildcat which was making a den of the dugout at the time of their arrival. This he had stretched in the proper fashion, over a thin piece of board, many of which they found in a corner of the place, having evidently served Old Sol for years in the same way.
Strange to say, Tom, knowing the secrets of trappers had not cut the skin underneath at all but turned it inside-out; this is called "casing," and the skin is dried with the flesh side out. Besides wildcat, a few other animals are also treated this way, notably 'possum, muskrat, mink and otter. As for beaver, raccoon, marten, fox, lynx, wolf, coyote and skunk, these may be slit underneath, and when stretched on the board, the hair is allowed to be on the outer side.
They are never cured near a fire or in the sun; the shade, where the wind can get at them being much more preferable, if "prime" or first-class pelts are desired; and of course that is the aim of every trapper.
Of course, one of the first things both boys had done on this morning was to take a look for signs of the bear Tom had heard passing in the night. The experienced Western lad had no difficulty in finding the tracks, and he showed his chum how the animal, after standing at a certain point, evidently sniffing in the direction of the smoke that came from their chimney, had made an abrupt turn, and headed once more for the neighboring defiles of the mountains, evidently not caring to remain in the vicinity of man, whom his instinct told him must always be the mortal enemy of his species.
"He was a bully big grizzly, too, all right, Felix!" announced Tom, pointing to the tremendous size of the footprints, with the marks of terrible claws showing; for a bear, like a dog, lacks the peculiar ability of the cat tribe to draw back its claws entirely except when needed.
Felix looked rather longingly toward the great rocky uplifts that seemed so very close by, although he well knew it was quite likely to prove a little undertaking, reaching any of the gulches and canyons that pierced the massive barrier.
"Not today, but soon, I hope," he remarked, turning with a smile toward Tom.
"That's right," remarked the other, "all in good time. We must first of all manage the eating end; or before we know it we won't have any meat in the cabin. Then we want to look up Old Sol's cache, where he's got some of his traps hid away. I'd just like to set a few of the same, to see if the luck holds good. And when, after a while, the spirit moves us, why, we'll start out to get that grizzly you've been dreaming about so long."
So Felix put the thought out of his head, and determined to abide his time. As he so often said, when some companion tried to make undue speed, "Rome wasn't built in a day," and the more haste the less speed to the end.
"How about that cache?" asked Felix, along about the noon hour, as they sat and rested up a bit after working faithfully all morning at many tasks.
"That's a fact!" exclaimed Tom, jumping up again in a hurry; "I'd let that slip my mind. And I'm a whole lot curious to know how the steel contraptions have stood the three years that have gone by since Old Sol was up here."
"Didn't you say he wanted you to try and lug the traps back, when we started for home again?" inquired the other boy.
"He said he had an enduring affection for the traps, and that if we could manage to carry a few, he'd think it just prime. I suppose an old fellow does kind of get attached to anything he's handled so long. P'raps some of the traps have histories, too. And since we expect to make a sledge, and pull all our stuff over the snow to where we agreed to meet Frazer on Christmas day, why, chances are, we can take the whole caboodle out of the mountains. I know it would tickle the old man a lot, and he's been mighty kind to me, let me tell you, Felix."
"Oh! we can do that easy enough," returned Felix, always ready to oblige; "when we leave here there'll be plenty of snow; and with our shoes we can make good time, picking out a day that's suited to the work."
Tom went over to the lower bunk. Getting down on his hands and knees he reached underneath, and presently drew forth what seemed to be a rudely made box. This he had some difficulty in opening, and when the top was finally pried off they found that the traps had been wrapped, each one, in an old, poor quality skin, that seemed to be in a pretty good state of preservation.
Of course Old Sol had expected to be up there again on the following Fall, when he put his traps away like this; and never dreamed that three years would slip by before the cache was opened. But he had carefully greased them with bear's fat, and as a whole they were looking very decent.
Altogether they made quite an assortment when Tom laid them out. The boy handled them almost with reverence. He knew that, as he had said before, each one must have a history. Many a story could they tell, if those grim-looking jaws could only speak—stories of captured wild animals galore, and of more than one fierce fight before the prisoner finally gave up the ghost.
"Tomorrow, perhaps, we can get several of these placed," Tom remarked, as, having hung the traps up from pegs in the wall, he started preparations looking to having some warm lunch, for the day was quite cold. "If I go out for a little turn this afternoon, as you said, why, I'll keep my eyes about me for likely places. Sol, in his many stories about his life up here, gave me more than a few hints about the favorite places he had for certain animals. I rather guess this place must have been his pet camp, and he used several in his day."
Felix was not quite recovered from his fatigue, and hence it had been agreed between them that perhaps he would be wise to stay in camp, and let Tom take the first look for meat.
Tom was as tough as a pine-knot. He had been used to roughing it all his life, and hardly knew such a thing as getting real tired. Besides, as he had known Old Sol personally, the chances were he would be able to find a deer more quickly than his cousin might. With that rough chart to guide him, and the stories of the old trapper still fresh in his mind, Tom believed he had a pretty comprehensive idea concerning the lay of the land, even before he had taken one step towards exploring the vicinity.
"The woods ought to be good enough for me," he had said; "and I hope to bring back a load of juicy venison; but if I don't strike up with my deer, why, we'll just have to fall back on that piece of ham that's left over."
"I hope not," remarked Felix, with a shrug; "I'm just tired of ham and bacon for a steady diet, and ache to have a piece of venison between my teeth. So here's wishing you the best luck ever, Tom, which is saying a good word for myself, too."
When Tom shouldered his gun, and took one last look at the now cozy interior of the cabin, he smiled back at his chum.
"Let me tell you, Felix," he remarked, "it looks good to me already; and I just know we're going to have the best sort of time up here, if only we manage to keep the wolf from the door."
"I'll do all I can to assist," laughingly responded Felix, little dreaming how shortly circumstances, just then utterly unseen, would bring these words of his companion forcibly before his mind.
"If you feel like it, Felix, you might be cutting up that big limb that was torn off the tree in some storm; we can't have too big a pile of fire wood, against the coming of winter, you know; and once we get a string of traps to look after, the less time we have to spend in chopping wood, the better."
And with these words, followed by a cheery wave of his chum's hand, Tom strode off for his first side hunt. They really were in need of fresh meat. Some five days had passed since leaving home, and with three to feed part of the time, this had made a little hole in the stock of provisions brought along with them.
Tom had done a great deal of hunting, and was familiar with most of the tricks resorted to by those who are most successful in getting game. Of course he took occasion to notice the direction of the wind before leaving the cabin. It would be the height of folly to try and stalk a deer with the breeze blowing his scent directly to the delicate nostrils of his intended quarry, for the wary animal must detect his presence long before he could hope to get within gunshot, and as a consequence would be off "like a streak of greased lightning," as Tom himself put it.
As he went along, the boy kept his eyes about him, observing numerous things of a nature to interest a hunter and trapper. The sigh of the wind through the tree-tops was sweetest music in the ears of Tom Tucker; many a night had it lulled him to sleep when in the woods; or stealing softly over the grassy prairie, where the cattle grazed, it had carried with it the chirp of crickets and katydids and all the other familiar sounds of a summer night on the range.
Never a leaf came floating to the ground near him but that his quick eye sought it out instinctively. If some little squirrel rustled the leaves, his ear was on the alert, even as his eager finger touched the trigger of his gun, ready for a shot at a bounding black-tail deer.
So Tom went on for perhaps an hour.
He was not more than half a mile away from the camp at most, since he had considered it good policy to make a half circle, covering as much ground as possible in this, his first tramp.
So far he had seen nothing worth shooting at, though signs of deer had caught his watchful eye numerous times; and he felt sure they used these grounds for feeding purposes, as there were patches of green grass every little while.
And then, all of a sudden, there was a loud rustle of the leaves that sent a thrill through the young hunter. He saw a deer leap over a fallen tree with all the ease in the world, and start to bound away, taking great springs. Instinct rather than anything else caused Tom to throw his rifle to his shoulder; and then he fired, just as the buck turned slightly in order to avoid some obstruction, which Tom had already known would make him veer.
With a crash the deer went down. Throwing another cartridge into the firing chamber of his gun, Tom started full speed toward the spot, ready to finish his quarry, if such a thing proved necessary; for he had known deer to get up again, full of fight, after being thrown to the ground by a shot.
But that first well-placed ball had accomplished its work. The buck was dead by the time Tom reached the spot, pleased with his success, which he looked upon as a splendid sign of future luck.
As the afternoon was well along, and he would have half a mile to "tote" his burden, the boy lost no time in setting to work removing the skin of the animal, and then cutting the deer up, so as to secure the choice portions, including of course the two haunches.
Outside of the hams and perhaps the shoulders there is not a great deal about a deer worth taking; so in due time Tom had packed all he wanted in the hide, which he made up into a compact bundle, and threw over his shoulder.
Thus loaded, and in a happy frame of mind, he started in the direction of camp. Never once during his hour's tramp had Tom been compelled to guess where the dugout lay. The woods were as an open book to him, so accustomed was he to unconsciously noting many little things around him—the moss on the trees; the way the forest monarchs inclined away from the prevailing storms that came from the west in this region, sweeping down the sides of the mountains; with these and many other signs to tell him, a hunter can read locations as easily as you or I might a printed page in a book.
Tom had been moving along a short time in this way when suddenly he stopped to listen. The report of a gun had been borne to his ears, and from the direction of the camp, though the breeze was not favorable for carrying sounds.
"Hello!" he started to remark; when to his surprise a second shot followed the first, and quickly came a third.
By this time Tom was excited. He fancied that this might be a signal calling for help, as is well known among woodsmen, and cattle rustlers. Thoughts of the rough characters said to be somewhere in this vicinity, after being run out of Yellowstone Park by the soldiers guarding the preserves, flashed into his mind.
And so Tom, hastily throwing his pack up over a limb, where it would be safe for a while at least, and carefully noting the spot, so he could find the meat again, started on a wild run for the location of Old Sol's hideout.