Rolf In The Woods - Ernest Thompson Seton (interesting books to read for teens .TXT) 📗

They Had Seen Fresh Deer Tracks,

And Now That The Need Of Meat Was Felt,  Rolf Proposed A Deer

Hunt.

 

Many Deer Die Every Winter; Some Are Winter-Killed; Many Are

Devoured By Beasts Of Prey,  Or Killed By Hunters; Their Numbers

Are At Low Ebb In April,  So That Now One Could Not Count On

Finding A Deer By Roaming At Random. It Was A Case For Trailing.

 

Any One Can Track A Deer In The Snow.  It Is Not Very Hard To

Follow A Deer In Soft Ground,  When There Are No Other Deer About.

But It Is Very Hard To Take One Deer Trail And Follow It Over

Rocky Ground And Dead Leaves,  Never Losing It Or Changing Off,

When There Are Hundreds Of Deer Tracks Running In All Directions.

 

Rolf's Eyes Were Better Than Quonab's,  But Experience Counts For

As Much As Eyes,  And Quonab Was Leading. They Picked Out A Big

Buck Track That Was Fresh -- No Good Hunter Kills A Doe At This

Season.  They Knew It For A Buck,  Because Of Its Size And The

Roundness Of The Toes.

 

Before Long,  Rolf Said: "See,  Quonab,  I Want To Learn This

Business; Let Me Do The Trailing,  And You Set Me Right If I Get

Off The Line."

 

Within A Hundred Yards,  Quonab Gave A Grunt And Shook His Head.

Rolf Looked Surprised,  For He Was On A Good,  Fresh Track.

 

Quonab Said But One Word,  "Doe."

 

Yes,  A Closer View Showed The Tracks To Be A Little Narrower,   A

Little Closer Together,  And A Little Sharper Than Those He Began

With.

 

Back Went Rolf To The Last Marks That He Was Sure Of,  And Plainly

Read Where The Buck Had Turned Aside. For A Time,  Things Went

Along Smoothly,  Quonab And Skookum Following Rolf.  The Last Was

Getting Very Familiar With That Stub Hoof On The Left Foot.  At

Length They Came To The "Fumet" Or "Sign"; It Was All In One

Pile. That Meant The Deer Had Stood,  So Was Unalarmed; And Warm;

That Meant But A Few Minutes Ahead.  Now,  They Must Use Every

Precaution For This Was The Crux Of The Hunt. Of This Much Only

They Were Sure -- The Deer Was Within Range Now,  And To Get Him

They Must See Him Before He Saw Them.

 

Skookum Was Leashed.  Rolf Was Allowed To Get Well Ahead,  And

Crawling Cautiously,  A Step At A Time,  He Went,  Setting Down His

Moccasined Foot Only After He Had Tried And Selected A Place.

Once Or Twice He Threw Into The Air A Tuft Of Dry Grass To Make

Sure That The Wind Was Right,  And By Slow Degrees He Reached The

Edge Of A Little Opening.

 

Across This He Peered Long,  Without Entering It.  Then He Made A

Sweep With His Hand And Pointed,  To Let Quonab Know The Buck Had

Gone Across And He Himself Must Go Around.  But He Lingered Still

And With His Eyes Swept The Near Woods.  Then,  Dim Gray Among The

Gray Twigs,  He Saw A Slight Movement,  So Slight It Might Have

Been Made By The Tail Of A Tomtit.  But It Fixed His Attention,

And Out Of This Gray Haze He Slowly Made Out The Outline Of A

Deer's Head,  Antlers,  And Neck.  A Hundred Yards Away,  But "Take

A Chance When It Comes" Is Hunter Wisdom.  Rolf Glanced At The

Sight,  Took Steady Aim,  Fired,  And Down Went The Buck Behind A

Log.  Skookum Whined And Leaped High In His Eagerness To See.

Rolf Restrained His Impatience To Rush Forward,  At Once Reloaded,

Then All Three Went Quickly To The Place.  Before They Were

Within Fifty Yards,  The Deer Leaped Up And Bounded Off.  At

Seventy-Five Yards,  It Stood For A Moment To Gaze.  Rolf Fired

Again; Again The Buck Fell Down,  But Jumped To Its Feet And

Bounded Away.

 

They Went To The Two Places,  But Found No Blood. Utterly Puzzled,

They Gave It Up For The Day,  As Already The Shades Of Night Were

On The Woods,  And In Spite Of Skookum's Voluble Offer To Solve

And Settle Everything,  They Returned To The Cabin.

 

"What Do You Make Of It,  Quonab?'

 

The Indian Shook His Head,  Then: "Maybe Touched His Head And

Stunned Him,  First Shot; Second,  Wah!  I Not Know."

 

"I Know This," Said Rolf.  "I Touched Him And I Mean To Get Him

In The Morning."

 

True To This Resolve,  He Was There Again At Dawn,  But Examined

The Place In Vain For A Sign Of Blood.  The Red Rarely Shows Up

Much On Leaves,  Grass,  Or Dust; But There Are Two Kinds Of Places

That The Hunter Can Rely On As  Telltales -- Stones And Logs.

Rolf Followed The Deer Track,  Now Very Dim,  Till At A Bare Place

He Found A Speck Of Blood On A Pebble.  Here The Trail Joined

Onto A Deer Path,  With So Many Tracks That It Was Hard To Say

Which Was The Right One.  But Rolf Passed Quickly Along To A Log

That Crossed The Runway,  And On That Log He Found A Drop Of

Dried-Up Blood That Told Him What He Wished To Know.

 

Now He Had A Straight Run Of A Quarter Of A Mile,  And From Time

To Time He Saw A Peculiar Scratching Mark That Puzzled Him.  Once

He Found A Speck Of Blood At One Of These Scratches But No Other

Evidence That The Buck Was Touched.

 

A Wounded Deer Is Pretty Sure To Work Down Hill,  And Quonab,

Leaving Skookum With Rolf,  Climbed A Lookout That Might Show

Whither The Deer Was Heading.

 

After Another Half Mile,  The Deer Path Forked; There Were Buck

Trails On Both,  And Rolf Could Not Pick Out The One He Wanted.

He Went A Few Yards Along Each,  Studying The Many Marks,  But Was

Unable To Tell Which Was That Of The Wounded Buck.

 

Now Skookum Took A Share In It.  He Had Always Been Forbidden To

Run Deer And Knew It Was A Contraband Amusement,   But He Put His

Nose To That Branch Of The Trail That Ran Down Hill,  Followed It

For A Few Yards,  Then Looked At Rolf,  As Much As To Say: "You

Poor Nose-Blind Creature; Don't You Know A Fresh Deer Track When

You Smell It? Here It Is; This Is Where He Went."

 

Rolf Stared,  Then Said,  "I Believe He Means It"; And Followed The

Lower Trail.  Very Soon He Came To Another Scrape,  And,  Just

Beyond It,  Found The New,  Velvet-Covered Antler Of A Buck,  Raw

And Bloody,  And Splintered At The Base.

 

From This On,  The Task Was Easier,  As There Were No Other Tracks,

And This Was Pointing Steadily Down Hill.

 

Soon Quonab Came Striding Along.  He Had Not Seen The Buck,  But A

Couple Of Jays And A Raven Were Gathered In A Thicket Far Down By

The Stream.  The Hunters Quit The Trail And Made For That Place.

As They Drew Near,  They Found The Track Again,  And Again Saw

Those Curious Scrapes.

 

Every Hunter Knows That The Bluejay Dashing About A Thicket Means

That Hidden There Is Game Of Some Kind,  Probably Deer.  Very,

Very Slowly And Silently They Entered That Copse.  But Nothing

Appeared Until There Was A Rush In The Thickest Part And Up

Leaped The Buck.  This Was Too Much For Skookum.  He Shot Forward

Like A Wolf,  Fastened On One Hind Leg,  And The Buck Went Crashing

Head Over Heels.  Before It Could Rise,  Another Shot Ended Its

Troubles.  And Now A Careful Study Shed The Light Desired. Rolf's

First Shot Had Hit The Antler Near The Base,  Breaking It,  Except

For The Skin On One Side,  And Had Stunned The Buck.  The Second

Shot Had Broken A Hind Leg.  The Scratching Places He Had Made

Were Efforts To Regain The Use Of This Limb,  And At One Of Them

The Deer Had Fallen And Parted The Rag Of Skin By Which The

Antler Hung.

 

It Was Rolf's First Important Trailing On The Ground; It Showed

How Possible It Was,  And How Quickly He Was Learning The Hardest

Of All The Feats Of Woodcraft.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 49 (Rolf Gets Lost)

Every One Who Lives In The Big Woods Gets Lost At Some Time. Yes,

Even Daniel Boone Did Sometimes Go Astray. And Whether It Is To

End As A Joke Or A Horrible Tragedy Depends Entirely On The Way

In Which The Person Takes It. This Is,  Indeed,  The Grand Test Of

A Hunter And Scout,  The Trial Of His Knowledge,  His Muscle,  And,

Above Everything,  His Courage; And,  Like All Supreme Trials,  It

Comes Without Warning.

 

The Wonderful Flocks Of Wild Pigeons Had Arrived. For A Few Days

In May They Were There In Millions,  Swarming Over The Ground In

Long-Reaching Hordes,  Walking Along,  Pecking And Feeding,  The

Rearmost Flying On Ahead,  Ever To The Front. The Food They Sought

So Eagerly Now Was Chiefly The Seeds Of The Slippery Elm,  Tiny

Nuts Showered Down On Wings Like Broad-Brimmed Hats. And When The

Flock Arose At Some Alarm,  The Sound Was Like That Of The Sea

Beach In A Storm.

 

There Seemed To Be Most Pigeons In The Low Country Southeast Of

The Lake,  Of Course,  Because,  Being Low,  It Had Most Elms. So

Rolf Took His Bow And Arrows,  Crossed In The Canoe,  And

Confidently Set About Gathering In A Dozen Or Two For Broilers.

 

It Is Amazing How Well The Game Seems To Gauge The Range Of

Your Weapon And Keep The Exact Safe Distance. It Is Marvellous

How Many Times You May Shoot An Arrow Into A Flock Of Pigeons And

Never Kill One. Rolf Went On And On,  Always In Sight Of The Long,

Straggling Flocks On The Ground Or In The Air,  But Rarely Within

Range Of Them. Again And Again He Fired A Random Shot Into The

Distant Mass,  Without Success For Two Hours. Finally A Pigeon Was

Touched And Dropped,  But It Rose As He Ran Forward,  And Flew Ten

Yards,  To Drop Once More. Again He Rushed At It,  But It Fluttered

Out Of Reach And So Led Him On And On For About Half An Hour's

Breathless Race,  Until At Last He Stopped,  Took Deliberate Aim,

And Killed It With An Arrow.

 

Now A Peculiar Wailing And Squealing From The Woods Far Ahead

Attracted Him. He Stalked And Crawled For Many Minutes Before He

Found Out,  As He Should Have Known,  That It Was Caused By A

Mischievous Bluejay.

 

At Length He Came To A Spring In A Low Hollow,  And Leaving His

Bow And Arrows On A Dry Log,  He Went Down To Get A Drink

 

As He Arose,  He Found Himself Face To Face With A Doe And A Fat,

Little Yearling Buck,  Only Twenty Yards Away. They Stared At Him,

Quite Unalarmed,  And,  Determining To Add The Yearling To His Bag,

Rolf Went Back Quietly To His Bow And Arrows.

 

~The Deer Were Just Out Of Range Now,  But Inclined To Take A

Curious Interest In The Hunter. Once When He Stood Still For A

Long Time,  They Walked Forward Two Or Three Steps; But Whenever

He Advanced,  They Trotted Farther Away.

 

To Kill A Deer With An Arrow Is Quite A Feat Of Woodcraft,  And

Rolf Was Keen To Show His Prowess; So He Kept On With Varying

Devices,  And Was Continually Within Sight Of The Success That Did

Not Actually Arrive.

 

Then The Deer Grew Wilder And Loped Away,  As He Entered Another

Valley That Was Alive With Pigeons.

 

He Was Feeling Hungry Now,  So He Plucked The Pigeon He Had

Secured,  Made A Fire With The Flint And Steel He Always Carried,

Then Roasted The Bird Carefully On A Stick. And Having Eaten It,

Felt Ready For More Travel.

 

The Day Was Cloudy,  So He Could Not See The Sun; But He Knew It

Was Late,  And He Made For Camp.

 

The Country He Found Himself In Was Entirely Strange To Him,  And

The Sun's Whereabouts Doubtful; But He Knew The General Line Of

Travel And Strode Along Rapidly Toward The Place Where He Had

Left The Canoe.

 

After Two Hours' Tramping,  He Was Surprised At Not Seeing The

Lake Through The Trees,  And He Added To His Pace.

 

Three Hours Passed And Still No Sign Of The Water.

 

He Began