Rolf In The Woods - Ernest Thompson Seton (interesting books to read for teens .TXT) 📗
- Author: Ernest Thompson Seton
Book online «Rolf In The Woods - Ernest Thompson Seton (interesting books to read for teens .TXT) 📗». Author Ernest Thompson Seton
Corrected His Course And Strode Along With Occasional Spells Of
Trotting. But Another Hour Wore Away Arid No Lake Appeared.
Then Rolf Knew He Was Off His Bearings. He Climbed A Tree And Got
A Partial View Of The Country. To The Right Was A Small Hill. He
Made For That. The Course Led Him Through A Hollow. In This He
Recognized Two Huge Basswood Trees, That Gave Him A Reassuring
Sense. A Little Farther He Came On A Spring, Strangely Like The
One He Had Left Some Hours Ago. As He Stooped To Drink, He Saw
Deer Tracks, Then A Human Track. He Studied It. Assuredly It Was
His Own Track, Though Now It Seemed On The South Side Instead Of
The North. He Stared At The Dead Gray Sky, Hoping For Sign Of
Sun, But It Gave No Hint. He Tramped Off Hastily Toward The Hill
That Promised A Lookout. He Went Faster And Faster. In Half An
Hour The Woods Opened A Little, Then Dipped. He Hastened Down,
And At The Bottom Found Himself Standing By The Same Old Spring,
Though Again It Had Changed Its North Bearing.
He Was Stunned By This Succession Of Blows. He Knew Now He Was
Lost In The Woods; Had Been Tramping In A Circle.
The Spring Whirled Around Him; It Seemed Now North And Now South.
His First Impulse Was To Rush Madly Northwesterly, As He
Understood It. He Looked At All The Trees For Guidance. Most Moss
Should Be On The North Side. It Would Be So, If All Trees Were
Perfectly Straight And Evenly Exposed, But Alas! None Are So. All
Lean One Way Or Another, And By The Moss He Could Prove Any Given
Side To Be North. He Looked For The Hemlock Top Twigs. Tradition
Says They Always Point Easterly; But Now They Differed Among
Themselves As To Which Was East.
Rolf Got More And More Worried. He Was A Brave Boy, But Grim Fear
Came Into His Mind As He Realized That He Was Too Far From Camp
To Be Heard; The Ground Was Too Leafy For Trailing Him; Without
Help He Could Not Get Away From That Awful Spring. His Head Began
To Swim, When All At Once He Remembered A Bit Of Advice His Guide
Had Given Him Long Ago: "Don't Get Scared When You're Lost.
Hunger Don't Kill The Lost Man, And It Ain't Cold That Does It;
It's Being Afraid. Don't Be Afraid, And Everything Will Come Out
All Right."
So, Instead Of Running, Rolf Sat Down To Think It Over.
"Now," Said He, "I Went Due Southeast All Day From The Canoe."
Then He Stopped; Like A Shock It Came To Him That He Had Not Seen
The Sun All Day. Had He Really Gone Southeast? It Was A
Devastating Thought, Enough To Unhinge Some Men; But Again Rolf
Said To Himself "Never Mind, Now; Don't Get Scared, And It'll Be
All Right. In The Morning The Sky Will Be Clear."
As He Sat Pondering, A Red Squirrel Chippered And Scolded From A
Near Tree; Closer And Closer The Impudent Creature Came To
Sputter At The Intruder.
Rolf Drew His Bow, And When The Blunt Arrow Dropped To The
Ground, There Also Dropped The Red Squirrel, Turned Into
Acceptable Meat. Rolf Put This Small Game Into His Pocket,
Realizing That This Was His Supper.
It Would Soon Be Dark Now, So He Prepared To Spend The Night.
While Yet He Could See, He Gathered A Pile Of Dry Wood Into A
Sheltered Hollow. Then He Made A Wind-Break And A Bed Of Balsam
Boughs. Flint, Steel, Tinder, And Birch Bark Soon Created A
Cheerful Fire, And There Is No Better Comforter That The Lone
Lost Man Can Command.
The Squirrel Roasted In Its Hide Proved A Passable Supper, And
Rolf Curled Up To Sleep. The Night Would Have Been Pleasant And
Uneventful, But That It Turned Chilly, And When The Fire Burnt
Low, The Cold Awakened Him, So He Had A Succession Of Naps And
Fire-Buildings.
Soon After Dawn, He Heard A Tremendous Roaring, And In A Few
Minutes The Wood Was Filled Again With Pigeons.
Rolf Was Living On The Country Now, So He Sallied Forth With His
Bow. Luck Was With Him; At The First Shot He Downed A Big, Fat
Cock. At The Second He Winged Another, And As It Scrambled
Through The Brush, He Rushed Headlong In Pursuit. It Fluttered
Away Beyond Reach, Halfflying, Half-Running, And Rolf, In
Reckless Pursuit, Went Sliding And Tumbling Down A Bank To Land
At The Bottom With A Horrid Jar. One Leg Was Twisted Under Him;
He Thought It Was Broken, For There Was A Fearful Pain In The
Lower Part. But When He Pulled Himself Together He Found No
Broken Bones, Indeed, But An Ankle Badly Sprained. Now His
Situation Was Truly Grave, For He Was Crippled And Incapable Of
Travelling.
He Had Secured The Second Bird, And Crawling Painfully And Slowly
Back To The Fire, He Could Not But Feel More And More Despondent
And Gloomy As The Measure Of His Misfortune Was Realized.
"There Is Only One Thing That Can Shame A Man, That Is To Be
Afraid." And Again, "There's Always A Way Out." These Were The
Sayings That Came Ringing Through His Head To His Heart; One Was
From Quonab, The Other From Old Sylvanne. Yes, There's Always A
Way, And The Stout Heart Can Always Find It.
Rolf Prepared And Cooked The Two Birds, Made A Breakfast Of One
And Put The Other In His Pocket For Lunch, Not Realizing At The
Time That His Lunch Would Be Eaten On This Same Spot. More Than
Once, As He Sat, Small Flocks Of Ducks Flew Over The Trees Due
Northward. At Length The Sky, Now Clear, Was Ablaze With The
Rising Sun, And When It Came, It Was In Rolf's Western Sky.
Now He Comprehended The Duck Flight. They Were Really Heading
Southeast For Their Feeding Grounds On The Indian Lake, And Rolf,
Had He Been Able To Tramp, Could Have Followed, But His Foot Was
Growing Worse. It Was Badly Swollen, And Not Likely To Be Of
Service For Many A Day - Perhaps Weeks -- And It Took All Of His
Fortitude Not To Lie Down And Weep Over This Last Misfortune.
Again Came The Figure Of That Grim, Kindly, Strong Old Pioneer,
With The Gray-Blue Eyes And His Voice Was Saying: "Jest When
Things Looks About As Black As They Can Look, If Ye Hold Steady,
Keep Cool And Kind, Something Sure Happens To Make It All Easy.
There's Always A Way And The Stout Heart Will Find It."
What Way Was There For Him? He Would Die Of Hunger And Cold
Before Quonab Could Find Him, And Again Came The Spectre Of Fear.
If Only He Could Devise Some Way Of Letting His Comrade Know. He
Shouted Once Or Twice, In The Faint Hope That The Still Air Might
Carry The Sound, But The Silent Wood Was Silent When He Ceased.
Then One Of His Talks With Quonab Came To Mind. He Remembered How
The Indian, As A Little Papoose, Had Been Lost For Three Days.
Though, Then But Ten Years Old, He Had Built A Smoke Fire That
Brought Him Help. Yes, That Was The Indian Way; Two Smokes Means
"I Am Lost"; "Double For Trouble."
Fired By This New Hope, Rolf Crawled A Little Apart From His Camp
And Built A Bright Fire, Then Smothered It With Rotten Wood And
Green Leaves. The Column Of Smoke It Sent Up Was Densely White
And Towered Above The Trees.
Then Painfully He Hobbled And Crawled To A Place One Hundred
Yards Away, And Made Another Smoke. Now All He Could Do Was Wait.
A Fat Pigeon, Strayed From Its Dock, Sat On A Bough Above His
Camp, In A Way To Tempt Providence. Rolf Drew A Blunt Arrow To
The Head And Speedily Had The Pigeon In Hand For Some Future Meal.
As He Prepared It, He Noticed That Its Crop Was Crammed With The
Winged Seed Of The Slippery Elm, So He Put Them All Back Again
Into The Body When It Was Cleaned, Knowing Well That They Are A
Delicious Food And In This Case Would Furnish A Welcome Variant
To The Bird Itself.
An Hour Crawled By. Rolf Had To Go Out To The Far Fire, For It
Was Nearly Dead. Instinctively He Sought A Stout Stick To Help
Him; Then Remembered How Hoag Had Managed With One Leg And Two
Crutches. "Ho!" He Exclaimed. "That Is The Answer -- This Is The
'Way."'
Now His Attention Was Fixed On All The Possible Crutches. The
Trees Seemed Full Of Them, But All At Impossible Heights. It Was
Long Before He Found One That He Could Cut With His Knife.
Certainly He Was An Hour Working At It; Then He Heard A Sound
That Made His Blood Jump.
From Far Away In The North It Came, Faint But Reaching;
"Ye-Hoo-O."
Rolf Dropped His Knife And Listened With The Instinctively Open
Mouth That Takes All Pressure From The Eardrums And Makes Them
Keen. It Came Again: " Ye-Hoo-O." No Mistake Now, And Rolf Sent
The Ringing Answer Back:
"Ye-Hoo-O, Ye-Hoo-O."
In Ten Minutes There Was A Sharp " Yap, Yap," And Skookum Bounded
Out Of The Woods To Leap And Bark Around Rolf, As Though He Knew
All About It; While A Few Minutes Later, Came Quonab Striding.
"Ho, Boy," He Said, With A Quiet Smile, And Took Rolf's Hand.
"Ugh! That Was Good," And He Nodded To The Smoke Fire. "I Knew
You Were In Trouble."
"Yes," And Rolf Pointed To The Swollen Ankle.
The Indian Picked Up The Lad In His Arms And Carried Him Back To
The Little Camp. Then, From His Light Pack, He Took Bread And Tea
And Made A Meal For Both. And, As They Ate, Each Heard The
Other's Tale.
"I Was Troubled When You Did Not Come Back Last Night, For You
Had No Food Or Blanket. I Did Not Sleep. At Dawn I Went To The
Hill, Where I Pray, And Looked Away Southeast Where You Went In
The Canoe. I Saw Nothing. Then I Went To A Higher Hill, Where I
Could See The Northeast, And Even While I Watched, I Saw The Two
Smokes, So I Knew My Son Was Alive."
"You Mean To Tell Me I Am Northeast Of Camp? "
"About Four Miles. I Did Not Come Very Quickly, Because I Had To
Go For The Canoe And Travel Here.
"How Do You Mean By Canoe?" Said Rolf, In Surprise.
You Are Only Half A Mile From Jesup River," Was The Reply. "I
Soon Bring You Home."
It Was Incredible At First, But Easy Of Proof. With The Hatchet
They Made A Couple Of Serviceable Crutches And Set Out Together.
In Twenty Minutes They Were Afloat In The Canoe; In An Hour They
Were Safely Home Again.
And Rolf Pondered It Not A Little. At The Very Moment Of Blackest
Despair, The Way Had Opened, And It Had Been So Simple, So Natural,
So Effectual. Surely, As Long As He Lived, He Would Remember Itä
"There Is Always A Way, And The Stout Heart Will Find It."
Chapter 50 (Marketing The Fur)
If Rolf Had Been At Home With His Mother, She Would Have Rubbed
His Black And Swollen Ankle With Goose Grease. The Medical Man At
Stamford Would Have Rubbed It With A Carefully Prepared And
Secret Ointment. His Indian Friend Sang A Little Crooning Song
And Rubbed It With Deer's Fat. All Different, And All Good,
Because Each Did Something To Reassure The Patient, To Prove That
Big Things Were Doing On His Behalf, And Each Helped The Process
Of Nature By Frequent Massage.
Three Times A Day, Quonab Rubbed That Blackened Ankle. The Grease
Saved The Skin From Injury, And In A Week Rolf Had Thrown His
Crutches Away.
The Month Of May Was Nearly Gone; June Was At Hand; That Is, The
Spring Was Over. !
In All Ages, Man Has Had The Impulse, If Not The Habit, Of Spring
Migration. Yielding To It He Either Migrated Or Made Some Radical
Change In His Life. Most
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