Bones On Black Spruce Mountain Read Online Free

wood used for framing was dead wood. The boys didn't want to cut any more live trees than they absolutely had to. Now, however, they did need to cut one live hemlock, about a foot in diameter. They sawed the butt log into four-foot sections to serve as reflector logs for the back of the fire. The hemlock boughs would make the weaving material for the side-walls and bedding for the floor of the lean-to. No part of the tree would go to waste; they would use it all.
    As the boys broke the soft, fragrant hemlock boughs away from their branches and laid them carefully layer upon layer on the lean-to floor, Mr. Bateau's words of instruction echoed in their minds: "Break little! Break little! You want to sleep on da boughs of da hemlock tree, not on da tree!"
    Doing the things Mr. Bateau had taught them, hearing his gentle instructions in their heads, made the boys feel better. It seemed as though Mr. Bateau were there with them, and his presence, even if it was only in their imaginations, made them feel more comfortable, more secure.
    With the soft, springy, deliciously sweet bed of hemlock complete, the boys tacked their tarp over the rafters and then covered it with branches to keep it from flapping in the wind.
    They wove the boughs into the sidewalls and the lean-to was complete. There would be time later for the little refinements, the cozy touches, that would make the lean-to a homey place to spend time. It looked good; Mr. Bateau would have been proud of them.
    The lean-to had taken a long time and most of the afternoon was gone. The boys really should have turned immediately to the construction of the fireplace and cooking range, but since they both were feeling better now and wanted to try some fishing, they agreed they could get along without it for one meal. They got their fishing gear together and headed upstream to find some trout.
    The fishing was better than their wildest dreams. Far up here in the mountains the trout had never even seen a hook before, and they lashed out voraciously each time a worm tumbled down the current toward them. Seth and Daniel soon discovered that although the trout hit hard, they were wild and very wary of any strange shadow across the water. If the boys accidentally approached a likely-looking hole with the sun at their backs so that their shadows reached the brook before they did, there would be no action in that place; it would seem as if there were no trout there. It wasn't long before they learned always to approach a hole with the sun in their faces and to keep low. These trout had to be stalked. The new method of fishing was exciting. It was more like hunting than fishing, and the results were magnificent.
    Quickly their creels filled with small but fat brook trout with the dark, almost black bellies that are so often the sign of high, wild mountain trout.
    As the boys worked their way slowly upstream, the crystal-clear, glacial-blue brook water gradually began to darken. Now there were fewer and fewer cleanly washed stones, more and more rocks covered with a dark green moss. Both boys had seen this happen to a brook before. It always meant still water ahead. And the only thing that still water meant was a pond, and in a place like this only beavers made ponds. As the boys pushed forward, they could see on both sides of the brook that telltale beaver sign, pointed stumps sharpened like pencils. They clambered over the tangle of sticks and twigs that was the dam and found themselves looking across a small beaver pond that stretched out in front of them through a maze of drowned trees.
    "Wow! Look at that!" Seth said.
    "Yeah, that thing must be full of trout. I bet nobody has ever fished it. Let's give it a try."
    "I think we should get back to camp," Seth said.
    "It's going to be dark soon and we've got to cook supper. It'll be here in the morning. Besides we've got more than enough to eat."
    "Go ahead back. I'm staying."
    "Come on, Daniel. It's suppertime."
    "Cook it