Rolf In The Woods - Ernest Thompson Seton (interesting books to read for teens .TXT) 📗
- Author: Ernest Thompson Seton
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The Grove, Until A Faint Air Current Took A Wreath Of It To The
Moose. The Great Nostrils Drank In A Draught That Conveyed
Terror To The Creature's Soul, And Wheeling It Started At Its
Best Pace To The Distant Swamp, To Be Seen No More.
Five Times, During These Four Days, Did Deer Come By And Behave
As Though They Knew Perfectly Well That This Young Human Was
Harmless, Entirely Without The Power Of The Far-Killing Mystery.
How Intensely Rolf Wished For A Gun. How Vividly Came Back The
Scene In The Trader's Store, -- When Last Month He Had Been
Offered A Beautiful Rifle For Twenty-Five Dollars, To Be Paid For
In Fur Next Spring, And Savagely He Blamed Himself For Not
Realizing What A Chance It Was. Then And There He Made Resolve
To Be The Owner Of A Gun As Soon As Another Chance Came, And To
Make That Chance Come Right Soon.
One Little Victory He Had In That Time. The Creature That Had
Torn Open The Venison Bag Was Still Around The Camp; That Was
Plain By The Further Damage On The Bag Hung In The Storehouse,
The Walls Of Which Were Not Chinked. Mindful Of Quonab's Remark,
He Set Two Marten Traps, One On The Roof, Near The Hole That Had
Been Used As Entry; The Other On A Log Along Which The Creature
Must Climb To Reach The Meat. The Method Of Setting Is Simple; A
Hollow Is Made, Large Enough To Receive The Trap As It Lies Open;
On The Pan Of The Trap Some Grass Is Laid Smoothly; On Each Side
Of The Trap A Piece Of Prickly Brush Is Placed, So That In
Leaping Over These The Creature Will Land On The Lurking Snare.
The Chain Was Made Fast To A Small Log.
Although So Seldom Seen There Is No Doubt That The Marten Comes
Out Chiefly By Day. That Night The Trap Remained Unsprung; Next
Morning As Rolf Went At Silent Dawn To Bring Water From The Lake,
He Noticed A Long, Dark Line That Proved To Be Ducks. As He Sat
Gazing He Heard A Sound In The Tree Beyond The Cabin. It Was
Like The Scratching Of A Squirrel Climbing About. Then He Saw
The Creature, A Large, Dark Squirrel, It Seemed. It Darted Up
This Tree And Down That, Over Logs And Under Brush, With The
Lightning Speed Of A Lightning Squirrel, And From Time To Time It
Stopped Still As A Bump While It Gazed At Some Far And Suspicious
Object. Up One Trunk It Went Like A Brown Flash, And A Moment
Later, Out, Cackling From Its Top, Flew Two Partridges. Down To
The Ground, Sinuous, Graceful, Incessantly Active Flashed The
Marten. Along A Log It Raced In Undulating Leaps; In The Middle
It Stopped As Though Frozen, To Gaze Intently Into A Bed Of
Sedge; With Three Billowy Bounds Its Sleek Form Reached The
Sedge, Flashed In And Out Again With A Mouse In Its Snarling
Jaws; A Side Leap Now, And Another Squeaker Was Squeakless, And
Another. The Three Were Slain, Then Thrown Aside, As The Brown
Terror Scanned A Flight Of Ducks Passing Over. Into A Thicket Of
Willow It Disap- Peared And Out Again Like An Eel Going Through
The Mud, Then Up A Tall Stub Where Woodpecker Holes Were To Be
Seen. Into The Largest It Went So Quickly Rolf Could Scarcely See
How It Entered, And Out In A Few Seconds Bearing A Flying
Squirrel Whose Skull It Had Crushed. Dropping The Squirrel It
Leaped After It, And Pounced Again On The Quivering Form With A
Fearsome Growl; Then Shook It Savagely, Tore It Apart, Cast It
Aside. Over The Ground It Now Undulated, Its Shining Yellow
Breast Like A Target Of Gold. Again It Stopped. Now In Pose
Like A Pointer, Exquisitely Graceful, But Oh, So Wicked! Then
The Snaky Neck Swung The Cobra Head In The Breeze And The Brown
One Sniffed And Sniffed, Advanced A Few Steps, Tried The Wind And
The Ground. Still Farther And The Concentrated Interest Showed In
Its Outstretched Neck And Quivering Tail. Bounding Into A
Thicket It Went, When Out Of The Other Side There Leaped A
Snowshoe Rabbit, Away And Away For Dear Life. Jump, Jump, Jump;
Twelve Feet At Every Stride, And Faster Than The Eye Could
Follow, With The Marten Close Behind. What A Race It Was, And
How They Twinkled Through The Brush! The Rabbit Is, Indeed,
Faster, But Courage Counts For Much, And His Was Low; But Luck
And His Good Stars Urged Him Round To The Deer Trail Crossing Of
The Stream; Once There He Could Not Turn. There Was Only One
Course. He Sprang Into The Open River And Swam For His Life.
And The Marten - Why Should It Go In? It Hated The Water; It Was
Not Hungry; It Was Out For Sport, And Water Sport Is Not To Its
Liking. It Braced Its Sinewy Legs And Halted At The Very Brink,
While Bunny Crossed To The Safe Woods.
Back Now Came Wahpestan, The Brown Death, Over The Logs Like A
Winged Snake, Skimming The Ground Like A Sinister Shadow, And
Heading For The Cabin As The Cabin's Owner Watched. Passing The
Body Of The Squirrel It Paused To Rend It Again, Then Diving Into
The Brush Came Out So Far Away And So Soon That The Watcher
Supposed At First That This Was Another Marten. Up The Shanty
Corner It Flashed, Hardly Appearing To Climb, Swung That Yellow
Throat And Dark-Brown Muzzle For A Second, Then Made Toward The Entry.
Rolf Sat With Staring Eyes As The Beautiful Demon, Elegantly
Spurning The Roof Sods, Went At Easy, Measured Bounds Toward The
Open Chink -- Toward Its Doom. One, Two, Three -- Clearing The
Prickly Cedar Bush, Its Forefeet Fell On The Hidden Trap; Clutch,
A Savage Shriek, A Flashing, -- A Struggle Baffling The Eyes To
Follow, And The Master Of The Squirrels Was Himself Under
Mastery.
Rolf Rushed Forward Now. The Little Demon In The Trap Was
Frothing With Rage And Hate; It Ground The Iron With Its Teeth;
It Shrieked At The Human Foeman Coming.
The Scene Must End, The Quicker The Better, And Even As The
Marten Itself Had Served The Flying Squirrel And The Mice, And As
Quonab Served The Mink, So Rolf Served The Marten And The Woods
Was Still.
Chapter 29 (Snowshoes)
That's For Annette," Said Rolf, Remembering His Promise As He
Hung The Stretched Marten Skin To Dry.
"Yi! Yi! Yi!" Came Three Yelps, Just As He Had Heard Them The
Day He First Met Quonab, And Crossing The Narrow Lake He Saw His
Partner's Canoe.
"We Have Found The Good Hunting," He Said, As Rolf Steadied The
Canoe At The Landing And Skookum, Nearly Well Again, Wagged His
Entire Ulterior Person To Welcome The Wanderer Home. The First
Thing To Catch The Boy's Eye Was A Great, Splendid Beaver Skin
Stretched On A Willow Hoop.
"Ho, Ho!" He Exclaimed.
"Ugh; Found Another Pond."
"Good, Good," Said Rolf As He Stroked The Flrst Beaver Skin He
Had Ever Seen In The Woods.
"This Is Better," Said Quonab, And Held Up The Two Barkstones,
Castors, Or Smell-Glands That Are Found In Every Beaver And Which
For Some Hid Reason Have An Irresistible Attraction For All Wild
Animals. To Us The Odour Is Slight, But They Have The Power Of
Intensifying, Perpetuating, And Projecting Such Odorous
Substances As May Be Mixed With Them. No Trapper Considers His
Bait To Be Perfect Without A Little Of The Mysterious Castor. So
That That Most Stenchable Thing They Had Already Concocted Of
Fish-Oil, Putrescence, Sewer-Gas, And Sunlight, When Commingled
And Multiplied With The Dried-Up Powder Of A Castor, Was
Intensified Into A Rich, Rancid, Gas-Exhaling Hell-Broth As
Rapturously Bewitching To Our Furry Brothers As It Is
Poisonously Nauseating To Ourselves -- Seductive Afar Like The
Sweetest Music, Inexorable As Fate, Insidious As Laughing-Gas,
Soothing And Numbing As Absinthe -- This, The Lure And
Caution-Luller, Is The Fellest Trick In All The Trappers' Code.
As Deadly As Inexplicable, Not A Few Of The States Have Classed
It With Black Magic And Declared Its Use A Crime.
But No Such Sentiment Prevailed In The High Hills Of Quonab's
Time, And Their Preparations For A Successful Trapping Season
Were Nearly Perfect. Thirty Deadfalls Made By Quonab, With The
Sixty Made On The First Trip And A Dozen Steel Traps, Were Surely
Promise Of A Good Haul. It Was Nearly November Now; The Fur Was
Prime; Then Why Not Begin? Because The Weather Was Too Fine.
You Must Have Frosty Weather Or The Creatures Taken In The
Deadfalls Are Spoiled Before The Trapper Can Get Around.
Already A Good, Big Pile Of Wood Was Cut; Both Shanty And
Storeroom Were Chinked, Plugged, And Banked For The Winter. It
Was Not Safe Yet To Shoot And Store A Number Of Deer, But There
Was Something They Could Do. Snowshoes Would Soon Be A Necessary
Of Life; And The More Of This Finger Work They Did While The
Weather Was Warm, The Better.
Birch And Ash Are Used For Frames; The Former Is Less Liable To
Split, But Harder To Work. White Ash Was Plentiful On The Near
Flat, And A Small Ten-Foot Log Was Soon Cut And Split Into A Lot
Of Long Laths. Quonab Of Course Took Charge; But Rolf Followed
In Everything. Each Took A Lath And Shaved It Down Evenly Until
An Inch Wide And Three Quarters Of An Inch Thick. The Exact
Middle Was Marked, And For Ten Inches At Each Side Of That It Was
Shaved Down To Half An Inch In Thickness. Two Flat Crossbars,
Ten And Twelve Inches Long, Were Needed And Holes To Receive
These Made Half Through The Frame. The Pot Was Ready Boiling And
By Using A Cord From End To End Of Each Lath They Easily Bent It
In The Middle And Brought The Wood Into Touch With The Boiling
Water. Before An Hour The Steam Had So Softened The Wood, And
Robbed It Of Spring, That It Was Easy To Make It Into Any Desired
Shape. Each Lath Was Cautiously Bent Round; The Crossbars
Slipped Into Their Prepared Sockets; A Temporary Lashing Of Cord
Kept All In Place; Then Finally The Frames Were Set On A Level
Place With The Fore End Raised Two Inches And A Heavy Log Put On
The Frame To Give The Upturn To The Toe.
Here They Were Left To Dry And The Indian Set About Preparing
The Necessary Thongs. A Buckskin Rolled In Wet, Hard Wood Ashes
Had Been Left In The Mud Hole. Now After A Week The Hair Was
Easily Scraped Off And The Hide, Cleaned And Trimmed Of All Loose
Ends And Tags, Was Spread Out -- Soft, White, And Supple.
Beginning Outside, And Following Round And Round The Edge, Quonab
Cut A Thong Of Rawhide As Nearly As Possible A Quarter Inch Wide.
This He Carried On Till There Were Many Yards Of It, And The Hide
Was All Used Up. The Second Deer Skin Was Much Smaller And
Thinner. He Sharpened His Knife And Cut It Much Finer, At Least
Half The Width Of The Other. Now They Were Ready To Lace The
Shoes, The Finer For The Fore And Back Parts, The Heavy For The
Middle On Which The Wearer Treads. An Expert Squaw Would Have
Laughed At The Rude Snowshoes That Were Finished That Day, But
They Were Strong And Serviceable.
Naturally The Snowshoes Suggested A Toboggan. That Was Easily
Made By Splitting Four Thin Boards Of Ash, Each Six Inches Wide
And Ten Feet Long. An Up-Curl Was Steamed On The Prow Of Each,
And Rawhide Lashings Held All To The Crossbars.
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