CHAPTER XI
IMPRISONED BY WOLVES
Tom Dalton could not overcome the terror he experienced at the near proximity of the wolves until Will assured him that they were safe.
“They can’t break in the door nor reach the roof.”
“But we’ll have to stay here all night.”
“Very probably, Tom, and we’ll make the best of it and try and keep comfortable.”
It was a cheerless outlook, however, for the snow came down through the roofless top of the cabin the same as if they were outdoors.
Will adjusted some logs to form a kind of shelter, however, and then for some time listened to the noises from the outside.
The wolves were baying and snarling and tearing at the logs as if hungry for their expected prey.
These sounds died away after a while, the animals seeming to abandon their assault on the cabin as useless.
“They have gone off on a new trail,” said Will; but half an hour later his theory seemed to be an incorrect one.
Far in the distance the baying began again, came nearer and nearer, and sounded more vicious in its echoing tones than before.
“I wonder what it means,” spoke Tom.
“They seem to be coming to the cabin again,” said Will. “Why, one of them is tearing at the logs.”
A scraping sound emanated from the outside as Will spoke.
“Yes, and the wolf is reaching the top. Oh, Will, we are lost! Look!”
Over the edge of the roof, a dark form climbed, plainly visible against the sky.
“It’s no wolf, Tom,” said Will, quickly.
“What, then?”
“A man. Don’t you see? Some belated traveler like ourselves.”
There was no doubt of Will’s statement, for the form climbed astride the roof pole, and, as the howling of the wolves sounded below him, shook his fist in their direction.
“Ye varmints,” the boys heard him cry, “I’ve cheated ye this time, but I guess this is the only tavern I’ll see tonight.”
His hat had fallen off in climbing to a place of safety, but some object in a box was clasped in one hand.
Curious and interested in this new phase in the occurrences of the night, the boys watched the man silently.
He kept talking down to the snarling wolves, seeking vainly to reach him, in a quaint, complaining tone.
Then he opened the box, and, to Will’s amazement, drew forth a violin.
“Ye didn’t get this, although ye’ve spoiled the party at the Corners’ tavern,” he shouted at the wolves. “I’ll give ye some music to dance to, ye jolly varmints.”
A jolly old person himself seemed the refugee, for, without more ado, as if rather enjoying his strange dilemma than otherwise, he began playing a quick, merry tune on his violin.
“Hello!”
As the strains of melody died away, Will shouted the word to the musician.
The latter started and stared all around him.
“Curious,” he muttered; “I knew music tamed animals, but to make ’em speak! Why, it’s someone inside the cabin,” he cried, in surprise, looking down as Will shouted up to him again. “Who are you?”
“Two boys driven here by the storm and the wolves.”
“Well, well, if this ain’t a night of adventures my name ain’t Jabez Brown,” muttered the stranger. “Catch the fiddle, youngsters, and don’t let it drop, for it’s my bread and butter. I’m coming down.”
He lowered the violin and followed it nimbly, staring curiously at his young companions in distress.
His big, honest eyes fairly shone in the semi-darkness of the hut as he questioned Will rapidly, and the latter briefly related the causes leading to their present dilemma.
In return, the musician informed them that they were in the vicinity of two isolated settlements, that he was a schoolmaster and musician, and that he was on his way to a place called “the Corners,” to play at a party at the tavern when the storm belated him and the wolves drove him to the old cabin.
“It ain’t safe to venture out before daylight,” he said, “for the storm’s heavy, and the wolves are as thick as bees. We’ll build a fire in the old fireplace yonder and keep warm, and I’ve got a little lunch in my pocket here.”
The bustling old musician, with the help of the boys, made a slanting cover of the loose logs in the cabin, and then, with his knife, cut some kindling from one of them.
A cheerful fire soon blazed in the fireplace, warming the chilled denizens of the hut. The stranger’s lunch was very welcome to the boys, and his merry stories of frontier life kept them entertained until nearly morning.
At daylight, they started over a trackless waste of snow for the Corners. Here the boys found some kind-hearted friends of Brown, who welcomed them to a cozy home until they could decide as to their future course.
A discussion of the situation with Brown led to an abandonment of the hope of again joining Mr. Hunter.
The only settlement they could remember where a station had been made, they were informed, was many miles to the west, through a trackless wilderness.
“We will have to work our way back to Watertown,” decided Will, and on the ensuing day, an opportunity presented itself to begin their progress homewards.
The storekeeper intended to drive to a town some fifty miles distant for goods and offered to give them a free ride.
When they reached the place they learned that it would be easier for them to reach the seacoast and then proceed home than to pass through a less inhabited portion direct to Watertown.
Four days after leaving the Corners, by means of occasional rides from farmers and others, they reached the city of Portland.
“We won’t be long in reaching Watertown now,” said Will, confidently.
“Why not?” inquired Tom.
“Because there must be some ships going that way, and I am acquainted with a good many of the sailors.”
The first place he visited was the wharves of the city. It was just dusk when they came to a dock where a large ship, which Will recognized, was moored.
Tom, less observing than his companion, had not noticed it particularly.
“There seems to be only one ship we know here,” said Will.
“I haven’t seen any.”
“Look yonder, then. That one lying nearest to us runs regularly to Watertown.”
Tom started as he recognized the craft, and looked dismayed.
For it was the Golden Moose.
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