The Demon Trapper of Umbagog: A Thrilling Tale of the Maine ForestsThompson, Daniel P. (Daniel Pierce)
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The Demon Trapper of Umbagog: A Thrilling Tale of the Maine Forests
Thompson, Daniel P. (Daniel Pierce)
Frontier and pioneer life -- Fiction; Maine -- Fiction; Trappers -- Fiction
“O, that is all settled,” answered the latter, putting on his pack, and
buttoning up, preparatory to an immediate start. “I caught glimpses of
both the ponds, noted all the hilltops, ridges, and other noticeable
landmarks, in the line between here and there, and can lead you as
straight as a gun to the spot, for which we will now be off; and the
sooner the better, as it is fast growing colder and colder, and the
whole heavens are every moment growing more dark and dubious.”
They then, after making their way down the precipitous side of the
hill to its western foot, struck off, under the lead of the hunter, in
a line through the forest, preserving their points of compass, when
none of their general landmarks were visible, by noting the peculiar
weather-beaten appearance of the mosses on the north sides of the
trees, and the usual inclination of the tips of the hemlocks from west
to east. And for the next hour and a half, on, on they tramped, in
Indian file, and almost unbroken silence, making headway with their
long, loping steps, notwithstanding the obstructing fallen trees,
brushwood, and constantly occurring inequalities of the ground, with a
speed which none but practised woodsmen can attain in the forest, and
which is scarcely equalled by the fastest foot-travellers on the smooth
and beaten highways of the open country.
At length they were gratified by an indistinct sight of some body of
water, gleaming dimly through the trees from some point in front; and
the walk of a few hundred yards more brought them out, as it luckily
happened, directly to the camp of which they were in search. It was,
however, tenantless; their companions had already departed; but the bed
of live coals in the usual place, from which the thin vapor was still
perceptibly ascending, showed that they could not have left more than
an hour before. In glancing into the deserted shanty, they descried a
clean strip of white birch bark, lying conspicuously on the ground, a
few feet within the entrance. On picking it up, they were soon enabled
to read the following words, traced with the charred end of a twig:
“Thinking something unusual to be brewing overhead, we are off for the
lake about 10 A.M.
CARVIL.”
“A very observing, considerate man, that Mr. Carvil,” said the hunter,
still musingly keeping his eyes on the unique dispatch. “He is one of
the few book-learned men I have ever known, who could apply science to
the natural philosophy of the woods. I can see how justly he reasoned
out this case: knowing that we had some thought of a jaunt to Dead
river this trip, he judged we should notice the signs of the weather
just as we did, and, as it seems, _he_ did; and that, in consequence,
when we got there, we should decide on the nearest route back, which
would bring us so near their camp that we should be tempted to come to
it; and so he left this notice for us that they thought it wisdom to
depart.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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