My Strange Rescue, and Other Stories of Sport and Adventure in CanadaOxley, J. Macdonald (James Macdonald)
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My Strange Rescue, and Other Stories of Sport and Adventure in Canada
Oxley, J. Macdonald (James Macdonald)
Canada -- Juvenile fiction; Canada -- Juvenile literature
"Ha, ha, my black beauty! You’re not going to get off so easily as
that," he said. And, kneeling down, he slipped off his snow-shoes and
stood in his moccasined feet. Then, leaning his gun against the wall of
the trap (which, I might explain, is built like a tiny log hut, having a
heavy log suspended from the roof in such a way that on a bear
attempting to enter it falls upon his back and makes him a prisoner).
Bruno took his hatchet from his belt and proceeded to crawl into the
trap, carefully avoiding the central stick which held up the loose log.
It was very dark, but he could see the bright eyes of the fox as it
crouched in the far corner. Holding his hatchet ready for a blow he
approached the fox, and was just about to strike when, with a sudden
desperate dart, it sprang past him toward the door. With an exclamation
of anger Bruno turned to follow it, and in his hasty movement brushed
against the supporting-post.
[Illustration: "BRUNO STRUCK WITH ALL HIS MIGHT AT HIS LEG."]
The mischief was done. In an instant the heavy log fell, and, although
by a quick dodge to the left Bruno saved his shoulder, the ponderous
thing descended upon his thigh, and, rolling down, pinned his right foot
to the ground as firmly as if he had been the bear it was intended to
capture.
Here, indeed, was a perilous situation for poor Bruno. Flat upon his
back, with a huge log across his ankle, what was he to do? Sitting up
he strove with all his might to push the log off, but he might as well
have tried to move a mountain. He was fastened down beyond all hope of
release without outside help.
But what hope was there of outside help? No one knew where he was, for
he had not said anything to his mother when setting out, and his father
had gone up the road some miles and would not return until dark. The
one chance was that his father, on returning home, would miss him, and
perhaps come in search of him, following the track made by his
snow-shoes. But, even if he did, that could not be for hours yet, and
in the meantime he would freeze to death; for the cold was intense, the
thermometer being many degrees below zero.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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