Baree Son of Kazan Read online

  CHAPTER 2

  And it was a wonderful world--a world of vast silence, empty ofeverything but the creatures of the wild. The nearest Hudson's Bay postwas a hundred miles away, and the first town of civilization was astraight three hundred to the south. Two years before, Tusoo, the Creetrapper, had called this his domain. It had come down to him, as wasthe law of the forests, through generations of forefathers. But Tusoohad been the last of his worn-out family; he had died of smallpox, andhis wife and his children had died with him. Since then no human foothad taken up his trails. The lynx had multiplied. The moose and caribouhad gone unhunted by man. The beaver had built theirhomes--undisturbed. The tracks of the black bear were as thick as thetracks of the deer farther south. And where once the deadfalls andpoison baits of Tusoo had kept the wolves thinned down, there was nolonger a menace for these mohekuns of the wilderness.

  Following the sun of this first wonderful day came the moon and thestars of Baree's first real night. It was a splendid night, and with ita full red moon sailed up over the forests, flooding the earth with anew kind of light, softer and more beautiful to Baree. The wolf wasstrong in him, and he was restless. He had slept that day in the warmthof the sun, but he could not sleep in this glow of the moon. He noseduneasily about Gray Wolf, who lay flat on her belly, her beautiful headalert, listening yearningly to the night sounds, and for the tonguingof Kazan, who had slunk away like a shadow to hunt.

  Half a dozen times, as Baree wandered about near the windfall, he hearda soft whir over his head, and once or twice he saw gray shadowsfloating swiftly through the air. They were the big northern owlsswooping down to investigate him, and if he had been a rabbit insteadof a wolf dog whelp, his first night under the moon and stars wouldhave been his last; for unlike Wapoos, the rabbit, he was not cautious.Gray Wolf did not watch him closely. Instinct told her that in theseforests there was no great danger for Baree except at the hands of man.In his veins ran the blood of the wolf. He was a hunter of all otherwild creatures, but no other creature, either winged or fanged, huntedhim.

  In a way Baree sensed this. He was not afraid of the owls. He was notafraid of the strange bloodcurdling cries they made in the black sprucetops. But once fear entered into him, and he scurried back to hismother. It was when one of the winged hunters of the air swooped downon a snowshoe rabbit, and the squealing agony of the doomed creatureset his heart thumping like a little hammer. He felt in those cries thenearness of that one ever-present tragedy of the wild--death. He feltit again that night when, snuggled close to Gray Wolf, he listened tothe fierce outcry of a wolf pack that was close on the heels of a youngcaribou bull. And the meaning of it all, and the wild thrill of it all,came home to him early in the gray dawn when Kazan returned, holdingbetween his jaws a huge rabbit that was still kicking and squirmingwith life.

  This rabbit was the climax in the first chapter of Baree's education.It was as if Gray Wolf and Kazan had planned it all out, so that hemight receive his first instruction in the art of killing. When Kazanhad dropped it, Baree approached the big hare cautiously. The back ofWapoos, the rabbit, was broken. His round eyes were glazed, and he hadceased to feel pain. But to Baree, as he dug his tiny teeth into theheavy fur under Wapoos's throat, the hare was very much alive. Theteeth did not go through into the flesh. With puppyish fierceness Bareehung on. He thought that he was killing. He could feel the dyingconvulsions of Wapoos. He could hear the last gasping breaths leavingthe warm body, and he snarled and tugged until finally he fell backwith a mouthful of fur. When he returned to the attack, Wapoos wasquite dead, and Baree continued to bite and snarl until Gray Wolf camewith her sharp fangs and tore the rabbit to pieces. After that followedthe feast.

  So Baree came to understand that to eat meant to kill, and as otherdays and nights passed, there grew in him swiftly the hunger for flesh.In this he was the true wolf. From Kazan he had taken other andstronger inheritances of the dog. He was magnificently black, which inlater days gave him the name of Kusketa Mohekun--the black wolf. On hisbreast was a white star. His right ear was tipped with white. His tail,at six weeks, was bushy and hung low. It was a wolf's tail. His earswere Gray Wolf's ears--sharp, short, pointed, always alert. Hisforeshoulders gave promise of being splendidly like Kazan's, and whenhe stood up he was like the trace dog, except that he always stoodsidewise to the point or object he was watching. This, again, was thewolf, for a dog faces the direction in which he is looking intently.

  One brilliant night, when Baree was two months old, and when the skywas filled with stars and a June moon so bright that it seemed scarcelyhigher than the tall spruce tops, Baree settled back on his haunchesand howled. It was a first effort. But there was no mistake in the noteof it. It was the wolf howl. But a moment later when Baree slunk up toKazan, as if deeply ashamed of his effort, he was wagging his tail inan unmistakably apologetic manner. And this again was the dog. IfTusoo, the dead Indian trapper, could have seen him then, he would havejudged him by that wagging of his tail. It revealed the fact that deepin his heart--and in his soul, if we can concede that he had one--Bareewas a dog.

  In another way Tusoo would have found judgment of him. At two monthsthe wolf whelp has forgotten how to play. He is a slinking part of thewilderness, already at work preying on creatures smaller and morehelpless than himself. Baree still played. In his excursions away fromthe windfall he had never gone farther than the creek, a hundred yardsfrom where his mother lay. He had helped to tear many dead and dyingrabbits into pieces. He believed, if he thought upon the matter at all,that he was exceedingly fierce and courageous. But it was his ninthweek before he felt his spurs and fought his terrible battle with theyoung owl in the edge of the thick forest.

  The fact that Oohoomisew, the big snow owl, had made her nest in abroken stub not far from the windfall was destined to change the wholecourse of Baree's life, just as the blinding of Gray Wolf had changedhers, and a man's club had changed Kazan's. The creek ran close pastthe stub, which had been shriven by lightning; and this stub stood in astill, dark place in the forest, surrounded by tall, black spruce andenveloped in gloom even in broad day. Many times Baree had gone to theedge of this mysterious part of the forest and had peered in curiously,and with a growing desire.

  On this day of his great battle its lure was overpowering. Little bylittle he entered into it, his eyes shining brightly and his ears alertfor the slightest sounds that might come out of it. His heart beatfaster. The gloom enveloped him more. He forgot the windfall and Kazanand Gray Wolf. Here before him lay the thrill of adventure. He heardstrange sounds, but very soft sounds, as if made by padded feet anddowny wings, and they filled him with a thrilling expectancy. Under hisfeet there were no grass or weeds or flowers, but a wonderful browncarpet of soft evergreen needles. They felt good to his feet, and wereso velvety that he could not hear his own movement.

  He was fully three hundred yards from the windfall when he passedOohoomisew's stub and into a thick growth of young balsams. Andthere--directly in his path--crouched the monster!

  Papayuchisew [Young Owl] was not more than a third as large as Baree.But he was a terrifying-looking object. To Baree he seemed all head andeyes. He could see no body at all. Kazan had never brought in anythinglike this, and for a full half-minute he remained very quiet, eying itspeculatively. Papayuchisew did not move a feather. But as Bareeadvanced, a cautious step at a time, the bird's eyes grew bigger andthe feathers about his head ruffled up as if stirred by a puff of wind.He came of a fighting family, this little Papayuchisew--a savage,fearless, and killing family--and even Kazan would have taken note ofthose ruffling feathers.

  With a space of two feet between them, the pup and the owlet eyed eachother. In that moment, if Gray Wolf could have been there, she mighthave said to Baree: "Use your legs--and run!" And Oohoomisew, the oldowl, might have said to Papayuchisew: "You little fool--use your wingsand fly!"

  They did neither--and the fight began.

  Papayuchisew started it, and with a single wild yelp Baree went back ina heap
, the owlet's beak fastened like a red-hot vise in the soft fleshat the end of his nose. That one yelp of surprise and pain was Baree'sfirst and last cry in the fight. The wolf surged in him; rage and thedesire to kill possessed him. As Papayuchisew hung on, he made acurious hissing sound; and as Baree rolled and gnashed his teeth andfought to free himself from that amazing grip on his nose, fiercelittle snarls rose out of his throat.

  For fully a minute Baree had no use of his jaws. Then, by accident, hewedged Papayuchisew in a crotch of a low ground shrub, and a bit of hisnose gave way. He might have run then, but instead of that he was backat the owlet like a flash. Flop went Papayuchisew on his back, andBaree buried his needlelike teeth in the bird's breast. It was liketrying to bite through a pillow, the feathers fangs, and just as theywere beginning to prick the owlet's skin, Papayuchisew--jabbing alittle blindly with a beak that snapped sharply every time itclosed--got him by the ear.

  The pain of that hold was excruciating to Baree, and he made a moredesperate effort to get his teeth through his enemy's thick armor offeathers. In the struggle they rolled under the low balsams to the edgeof the ravine through which ran the creek. Over the steep edge theyplunged, and as they rolled and bumped to the bottom, Baree loosed hishold. Papayuchisew hung valiantly on, and when they reached the bottomhe still had his grip on Baree's ear.

  Baree's nose was bleeding. His ear felt as if it were being pulled fromhis head; and in this uncomfortable moment a newly awakened instinctmade Baby Papayuchisew discover his wings as a fighting asset. An owlhas never really begun to fight until he uses his wings, and with ajoyous hissing, Papayuchisew began beating his antagonist so fast andso viciously that Baree was dazed. He was compelled to close his eyes,and he snapped blindly. For the first time since the battle began hefelt a strong inclination to get away. He tried to tear himself freewith his forepaws, but Papayuchisew--slow to reason but of firmconviction--hung to Baree's ear like grim fate.

  At this critical point, when the understanding of defeat was formingitself swiftly in Baree's mind, chance saved him. His fangs closed onone of the owlet's tender feet. Papayuchisew gave a sudden squeak. Theear was free at last--and with a snarl of triumph Baree gave a vicioustug at Papayuchisew's leg.

  In the excitement of battle he had not heard the rushing tumult of thecreek close under them, and over the edge of a rock Papayuchisew and hewent together, the chill water of the rain-swollen stream muffling afinal snarl and a final hiss of the two little fighters.