Part 3

“Bang, bang,” went the farmer’s gun, and the cubs hearing the loud noise, terrified out of their small wits, scurried off and lost themselves in the shadows of the great woods, while their poor mother, with a scream of baffled rage and pain dropped crashing into the underbrush.

But the bear happened to be simply stunned by the shot, and so the farmer and his boys took stout ropes and tied her four feet together and slipping a stout pole between them, in this fashion they carried her down the mountain, and then chained her to a tree near the barn. For the farmer and his boys were very proud of their live bear, and proposed to exhibit their treasure to all the neighbors.

Oh, how miserable and unhappy the poor, little black bear mother was, tied fast to the tree, while boys and men poked at her and prodded her with sharp sticks, just for the sake of hearing her fierce, angry growls. Sometimes, when too hard pressed, she would even climb into the tree, to get away from her tormentors, but in vain; the chain was too short for her to get very far away from them all, so she just howled and howled.

“I shall have to put an end to that old bear; she’s too noisy,” remarked the farmer that night, as he went to bed.

The moon came up that night over Cushman Mountain, big and yellow, and afar off among the thick, dark spruces, even above the singing of the frogs, Mrs. Bear’s little round, alert ears had caught the sound of an occasional, helpless whimpering cry, which seemed to her strangely familiar. It was the two motherless little cubs crying, hunting everywhere for their mother. Slowly but surely they were tracking her and even now they were coming down the mountain slope, and very soon the mother bear, straining her little red eyes, caught sight of the two little round shambling forms of the cubs, stealing from behind the barn.

The next thing they were all rubbing noses and “woof, woofing” together happily, while their mother fondled them eagerly, cuffing them playfully about with her free paw, almost forgetting about her smarting wounds, so delighted was she to have the cubs with her once more.

But time was flying fast; already had the old hoot owl come back from his night’s wanderings, and gone to sleep in his hole in the sycamore tree. Pale yellow rays had begun to take the place of the moon which had set; dawn was on the way, and the bears realized that they must get away.

Fiercely tugging at the cruel chain Mrs. Bear began to worry it, giving mighty tugs and wrenches, while the two cubs whimpered a chorus of encouragement. Finally something gave way, and trailing a long length of chain behind her, old Mrs. Bear and the two cubs made straight across Balsam Swamp, and then scrambled and clawed their way up the side of Cushman Mountain, and not an instant too soon, for by this time the sun had come up, and day had dawned.

Then the little black bear and her cubs crawled into their den under Porcupine Ridge, and the tall, wild sweet ferns, the clematis and nettles fell over their door, and you never would have suspected that the bear family were safe at home again, and had no fears whatever for anything, for they had all gone fast asleep.

RING NECK, LEADER OF THE FLYING WEDGE

High above the clouds, in the vast spaces of the heavens, the wedge-like flock of wild geese traveled. Unless your ear was very keen, you could barely catch the sound of their steady honking cry, far down below upon earthland, nor could you distinguish the faint outline of the wedge, unless there should happen to be a rift in the thick cloud curtain above which they flew.

All through the night they had journeyed, and for many long days and nights before, and the flock were becoming very wing weary; still, in spite of this, they never swerved from their course, and kept up their rhythmic, plaintive “honk, honk-honk, honk,” as they flew. The call was necessary; it encouraged the weaklings of the flock, and kept the wedge together in unbroken line, for should one of the trailers fall far behind, he would quickly be swallowed up in the thick mists away up there in the trackless sky.

Alone, ahead of the flock, flew Ring Neck, the mighty old leader of the flying wedge. For years he had led the migrating flock; wide and strong were his great black wings, never swerving or faltering in their flight, while his loud, strident “honk, honk” sent back courage to the flock which trailed behind him. He it was who gave the first signal for migrating, telling them when it was time to leave the sheltered wildness of the southern lagoon, where they had wintered, with its deep coverts and long, trailing mosses, and start north.

Each year his kindred trustingly followed where he led them, thousands of long, weary miles. Usually the flock flew all night. If the moon chanced to be bright, you might see from earth the shadowy forms of the geese and flocks of migrating birds pass swiftly across the surface of the moon.

Just behind Ring Neck flew the next most important bird of the flock, Black Crest, a young gander who in time would probably fall into line as chosen leader of the flock, in case the old king should drop out. In fact, even now Ring Neck had often to fight for his high position, for each year Black Crest grew more and more jealous of the leadership, and but for the terrific beatings which the old leader gave him, from time to time, to teach him his place, the younger goose would certainly have been leader. But Ring Neck had no idea of giving way to this younger bird, no, not until his eyes grew too dim to pierce the mists, or his great wings too feeble to lead the flock.

“Honk, honk, honk,” called Ring Neck steadily and clearly, slowing down his steady wing movement a trifle and floating. Then, at a signal, the whole flock began to drop very gently to earth, following their leader; down, down they fell. Now they were below the heavy white cloud masses, but still far above the morning mists. Ring Neck was leading them to feeding grounds and water. Finally, with swift wings he plunged straight through the mist curtain, and there right beneath the wedge gleamed a beautiful lake, spread out in the sunrise like a great silvery mirror. The flock were tired out, and glad enough that their leader had decided to rest. He seldom failed in his calculations, and could always locate water, no matter how high he might be flying, and always when he gave the signal to descend, they sighted the welcome pond.

“Honk, honk; come on, follow me,” called Ring Neck reassuringly, plunging eagerly straight for the lake. Then, all of a sudden he slowed down, swerving a trifle, and uttering a warning cry to the flock to hold back.

Now what Ring Neck had seen with his sharp eyes was that, close among a thicket of reeds and cat-tails, he had sighted a strange flock of geese. Slowly fanning the air with his great wings, keeping himself afloat, and holding back the flock, Ring Neck swerved toward the strangers. There were six of them, all of equal size, and his keen old eyes flashed down upon them with curiosity and jealousy as he watched them floating calmly about upon the water. Never had he encountered such strange geese before; stiffly they floated, rocking gently upon the water, but the strange part of it all was, they neither dipped nor flirted their wings, or moved their rigid heads about as all his own wild kindred always did when they struck water. No, these strange geese simply held their heads in a stiff, fixed position. Were they swimming, resting, or feeding, or simply keeping still, biding their time, insolently waiting for Ring Neck to lead his weary flock to water, and then perhaps fall upon them, tired out as they were, and drive them afar?

Now Ring Neck was old and stubborn, and very brave, so he made up his mind not to give in to the strangers, but as he wanted the coveted lake for his own flock, he determined to drive them off.

Uttering a loud, strident scream of rage, he swooped like an arrow down toward the strangers; with wildly whirling wings he beat the air, trying to frighten them to rise from the water.

“Bang, bang, bang” snapped out the duck-hunter’s gun, for he had been cleverly concealed, not very far away from his wooden decoy ducks, only Ring Neck had been so taken by the decoys that he had not seen him. As the gun spoke, down fluttered old Ring Neck the leader, and before the smoke and dropping feathers cleared, the gun pealed out and three of the flock fell into the water, and the hunter soon had them in his bag. But not so Ring Neck, for the shot had merely disabled one wing, so that he lay spread out, flapping helplessly upon the water, trying vainly to rise in air; no use, and soon with snapping beak, and strong, wild thrusts of his black feet he was fighting off the hunter, but it was no use; he was finally made a prisoner.

“Well, old fellow,” commented the hunter to himself, “I’ve shortened your proud career for a while, I reckon; you’re a mighty fine specimen of a goose; leader of the flock, I expect,” and he examined, admiringly, Ring Neck’s glossy head, and the changeable feathers of his neck, circled about with its silver ring, gradually trying to calm his wild struggles, as he smoothed his beautiful plumage.

Then the hunter made up his mind not to kill Ring Neck, for he had another, better plan. He resolved to train the wild goose as a decoy, and put him in among the wooden birds.

“Perhaps, who knows,” remarked the hunter, “you will be able to call down the rest of your flock if they come back this way next fall. I’ll try you and see.”

So Ring Neck was spared, and then began his training as a decoy. Just so long as the wild geese continued to fly north, each morning, very early, Ring Neck was thrust into a bag and taken, with the hideous wooden decoys, to the lake. He soon learned to hate and despise the clumsy, imitation birds, and at first tried to rise and fly away from them, but his wing was not strong enough to sustain him, and so he always fell back weakly among them, where he would peck and jostle them about angrily; but as the wooden things never showed fight he soon tired of them and let them alone. Diving and feeding, floating naturally and contentedly upon the lake among the stupid decoys, he it was who heard the first faint “honk, honk” of a coming flock of geese; then he would become wildly excited and send back a loud answering cry, fluttering his wings and tolling the strange birds down to their doom. Not that Ring Neck wished the hunter to shoot them, which he always did if they came near enough. But somehow Ring Neck always hoped that the flock might be his own; perhaps he even hoped to warn them away. At any rate Ring Neck soon became a very valuable decoy to the hunter, who grew very fond of him.

As soon as the wild geese ceased to fly over, the hunter left the lake, for the season was over, nor would it open again until autumn, when the birds flew back south, stopping at the lake upon their journey to rest. So Ring Neck became a decoy no longer, but was allowed his freedom about the lodge. Strangely enough, he had lost all his wild desire to fly northward and join the flock, even though the association with the decoys had been galling. With each week his lame wing grew stronger, however, and finally his old, wild nature stirred within him, and he flew off alone.

Ring Neck became strangely lonely, for it was hard for the old leader to be without the companionship of the flock. After floating and feeding out on the lake all day, at night he would beat down the coarse grass with his strong webbed feet, and crouching low he would tuck his broad beak beneath his wing and try to sleep and forget his loneliness. But often he was disturbed, for a crafty fox or some enemy, a wild night prowler, would thrust aside the reeds, and then with whirring, frightened thrashings, and terrified squawks, Ring Neck would fly to the water for safety. At daybreak he would feed near the banks, plunging down deep into the mud and ooze at the bottom, searching among the snake-like lily roots and water weeds for fresh clams, crawfish and in the shallows for shoals of little silvery minnows.

One morning he rose to the surface of the water, flirting his great burnished wings, and sending showers of pattering drops over the lily pads, and suddenly stretching out his glittering neck he uttered a loud, hoarse call, full of pleading and loneliness--a cry of longing for his kindred. Then from a little hidden inlet, to his joy and surprise, came back a meek, answering reply--“honk, honk, honk.”