Rolf In The Woods - Ernest Thompson Seton (interesting books to read for teens .TXT) 📗
- Author: Ernest Thompson Seton
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Some Soda Were Discovered And Stirred In, On General Principles,
And They Hastened To The Huge, Helpless Creature In The Field.
Poor Buck Seemed Worse Than Ever. He Was Flat On His Side, With
His Spine Humped Up, Moaning And Straining At Intervals. But Now
Relief Was In Sight -- So Thought The Men. With A Tin Dipper They
Tried To Pour Some Relief Into The Open Mouth Of The Sufferer,
Who Had So Little Appreciation That He Simply Taxed His Remaining
Strength To Blow It Out In Their Faces. Several Attempts Ended
The Same Way. Then The Brute, In What Looked Like Temper, Swung
His Muzzle And Dashed The Whole Dipper Away. Next They Tried The
Usual Method, Mixing It With A Bran Mash, Considered A Delicacy
In The Bovine World, But Buck Again Took Notice, Under Pressure
Only, To Dash It Away And Waste It All.
It Occurred To Them They Might Force It Down His Throat If They
Could Raise His Head. So They Used A Hand Lever And A Prop To
Elevate The Muzzle, And Were About To Try Another Inpour, When
Buck Leaped To His Feet, And Behaving Like One Who Has Been
Shamming, Made At Full Gallop For The Stable, Nor Stopped Till
Safely In His Stall, Where At Once He Dropped In All The Evident
Agony Of A New Spasm.
It Is A Common Thing For Oxen To Sham Sick, But This Was The Real
Thing, And It Seemed They Were Going To Lose The Ox, Which Meant
Also Lose A Large Part Of The Harvest.
In The Stable, Now, They Had A Better Chance; They Tied Him, Then
Raised His Head With A Lever Till His Snout Was High Above His
Shoulders. Now It Seemed Easy To Pour The Medicine Down That
Long, Sloping Passage. But His Mouth Was Tightly Closed, Any That
Entered His Nostrils Was Blown Afar, And The Suffering Beast
Strained At The Rope Till He Seemed Likely To Strangle.
Both Men And Ox Were Worn Out With The Struggle; The Brute Was No
Better, But Rather Worse.
"Wall," Said Rolf, "I've Seen A Good Many Ornery Steers, But
That's The Orneriest I Ever Did Handle, An' I Reckon We'll Lose
Him If He Don't Get That Poison Into Him Pretty Soon."
Oxen Never Were Studied As Much As Horses, For They Were
Considered A Temporary Shift, And Every Farmer Looked Forward To
Replacing Them With The Latter. Oxen Were Enormously Strong, And
They Could Flourish Without Grain When The Grass Was Good; They
Never Lost Their Head In A Swamp Hole, And Ploughed Steadily
Among All Kinds Of Roots And Stumps; But They Were Exasperatingly
Slow And Eternally Tricky. Bright, Being The Trickier Of The
Two, Was Made The Nigh Ox, To Be More Under Control. Ordinarily
Rolf Could Manage Buck Easily, But The Present Situation Seemed
Hopeless. In His Memory He Harked Back To Redding Days, And He
Recalled Old Eli Gooch, The Ox Expert, And Wondered What He Would
Have Done. Then, As He Sat, He Caught Sight Of The Sick Ox
Reaching Out Its Head And Deftly Licking Up A Few Drops Of Bran
Mash That Had Fallen From His Yoke Fellow's Portion. A Smile
Spread Over Rolf's Face. "Just Like You; You Think Nothing's Good
Except It's Stolen. All Right; We'll See." He Mixed A Big Dose Of
Medicine, With Bran, As Before. Then He Tied Bright's Head So
That He Could Not Reach The Ground, And Set The Bucket Of Mash
Half Way Between The Two Oxen. "Here Ye Are, Bright," He Said, As
A Matter Of Form, And Walked Out Of The Stable; But, From A
Crack, He Watched. Buck Saw A Chance To Steal Bright's Bran; He
Looked Around; Oh, Joy! His Driver Was Away. He Reached Out
Cautiously; Sniffed; His Long Tongue Shot Forth For A First
Taste, When Rolf Gave A Shout And Ran In. "Hi, You Old Robber!
Let That Alone; That's For Bright."
The Sick Ox Was Very Much In His Own Stall Now, And Stayed There
For Some Time After Rolf Went To Resume His Place At The
Peephole. But Encouraged By A Few Minutes Of Silence, He Again
Reached Out, And Hastily Gulped Down A Mouthful Of The Mixture
Before Rolf Shouted And Rushed In Armed With A Switch To Punish
The Thief. Poor Bright, By His Efforts To Reach The Tempting
Mash, Was Unwittingly Playing The Game, For This Was Proof
Positive Of Its Desirableness.
After Giving Buck A Few Cuts With The Switch, Rolf Retired, As
Before. Again The Sick Ox Waited For Silence, And Reaching Out
With Greedy Haste, He Gulped Down The Rest And Emptied The
Bucket; Seeing Which, Rolf Ran In And Gave The Rogue A Final
Trouncing For The Sake Of Consistency.
Any One Who Knows What Slippery Elm, Peppermint, Soda, Sulphur,
Colic, And Ox Do When Thoroughly Interincorporated Will Not Be
Surprised To Learn That In The Morning The Stable Needed Special
Treatment, And Of All The Mixture The Ox Was The Only Ingredient
Left On The Active List. He Was All Right Again, Very Thirsty,
And Not Quite Up To His Usual Standard, But, As Van Said, After A
Careful Look, "Ah, Tell You Vot, Dot You Vas A Veil Ox Again, An'
I T'ink I Know Not Vot If You All Tricky Vas Like Bright."
Chapter 57 (Rolf And Skookum At Albany)
The Red Moon (August) Follows The Thunder Moon, And In The Early
Part Of Its Second Week Rolf And Van, Hauling In The Barley And
Discussing The Fitness Of The Oats, Were Startled By A Most
Outrageous Clatter Among The Hens. Horrid Murder Evidently Was
Stalking Abroad, And, Hastening To The Rescue, Rolf Heard Loud,
Angry Barks; Then A Savage Beast With A Defunct "Cackle Party"
Appeared, But Dropped The Victim To Bark And Bound Upon The
"Relief Party" With Ecstatic Expressions Of Joy, In Spite Of
Rolf's -- "Skookum! You Little Brute!"
Yes! Quonab Was Back; That Is, He Was At The Lake Shore, And
Skookum Had Made Haste To Plunge Into The Joys And Gayeties Of
This Social Centre, Without Awaiting The Formalities Of Greeting
Or Even Of Dry-Shod Landing.
The Next Scene Was -- A Big, High Post, A Long, Strong Chain And
A Small, Sad Dog.
"Ho, Quonab, You Found Your People? You Had A Good Time?"
"Ugh," Was The Answer, The Whole Of It, And All The Light Rolf
Got For Many A Day On The Old Man's Trip To The North. The
Prospect Of Going To Albany For Van Cortlandt Was Much More
Attractive To Quonab Than That Of The Harvest Field, So A
Compromise Was Agreed On. Callan's Barley Was In The Stock; If
All Three Helped Callan For Three Days, Callan Would Owe Them For
Nine, And So It Was Arranged.
Again "Good-Bye," And Rolf, Quonab, And Little Dog Skookum Went
Sailing Down The Schroon Toward The Junction, Where They Left A
Cache Of Their Supplies, And Down The Broadening Hudson Toward
Albany.
Rolf Had Been Over The Road Twice; Quonab Never Before, Yet His
Nose For Water Was So Good And The Sense Of Rapid And Portage Was
So Strong In The Red Man, That Many Times He Was The Pilot. "This
Is The Way, Because It Must Be"; "There It Is Deep Because So
Narrow"; "That Rapid Is Dangerous, Because There Is Such A
Well-Beaten Portage Trail"; "That We Can Run, Because I See It,"
Or, "Because There Is No Portage Trail," Etc. The Eighty Miles
Were Covered In Three Sleeps, And In The Mid-Moon Days Of The Red
Moon They Landed At The Dock In Front Of Peter Vandam's. If
Quonab Had Any Especial Emotions For The Occasion, He Cloaked
Them Perfectly Under A Calm And Copper-Coloured Exterior Of
Absolute Immobility.
Their Albany Experiences Included A Meeting With The Governor And
An Encounter With A Broad And Burly River Pirate, Who, Seeing A
Lone And Peaceable-Looking Red Man, Went Out Of His Way To Insult
Him; And When Quonab's Knife Flashed Out At Last, It Was Only His
Recently Established Relations With The Governor's Son That Saved
Him From Some Very Sad Results, For There Were Many Loafers
About. But Burly Vandam Appeared In The Nick Of Time To Halt The
Small Mob With The Warning: "Don't You Know That's Mr. Van
Cortlandt's Guide?" With The Governor And Vandam To Back Him,
Quonab Soon Had The Mob On His Side, And The Dock Loafer's Own
Friends Pelted Him With Mud As He Escaped. But Not A Little
Credit Is Due To Skookum, For At The Critical Moment He Had
Sprung On The Ruffian's Bare And Abundant Leg With Such Toothsome
Effect That The Owner Fell Promptly Backward And The Knife Thrust
Missed. It Was Quickly Over And Quonab Replaced His Knife,
Contemptuous Of The Whole Crowd Before, During And After The
Incident. Not At The Time, But Days Later, He Said Of His Foe:
"He Was A Talker; He Was Full Of Fear."
With The Backwoods Only Thirty Miles Away, And The Unbroken
Wilderness One Hundred, It Was Hard To Believe How Little Henry
Van Cortlandt Knew Of The Woods And Its Life. He Belonged To The
Ultra-Fashionable Set, And It Was Rather Their Pose To Affect
Ignorance Of The Savage World And Its Ways. But He Had Plenty Of
Common-Sense To Fan Back On, And The Inspiring Example Of
Washington, Equally At Home In The Nation's Parliament, The Army
Intrenchment, The Glittering Ball Room, Or The Hunting Lodge Of
The Indian, Was A Constant Reminder That The Perfect Man Is A
Harmonious Development Of Mind, Morals, And Physique.
His Training Had Been Somewhat Warped By The Ultraclassic Fashion
Of The Times, So He Persisted In Seeing In Quonab A Sort Of
Discoloured, Barbaric Clansman Of Alaric Or A Camp Follower Of
Xenophon's Host, Rather Than An Actual Living, Interesting,
Native American, Exemplifying In The Highest Degree The Sinewy,
Alert Woodman, And The Saturated Mystic And Pantheist Of An Age
Bygone And Out Of Date, Combined With A Middle-Measure
Intelligence. And Rolf, Tall, Blue-Eyed With Brown, Curling
Hair, Was Made To Pose As The Youthful Achilles, Rather Than As A
Type Of America's Best Young Manhood, Cleaner, Saner, And Of Far
Higher Ideals And Traditions Than Ever Were Ascribed To Achilles
By His Most Blinded Worshippers. It Recalled The Case Of
Wordsworth And Southey Living Side By Side In England; Southey,
The Famous, Must Needs Seek In Ancient India For Material To
Write His Twelve-Volume Romance That No One Ever Looks At;
Wordsworth, The Unknown, Wrote Of The Things Of His Own Time,
About His Own Door? And Produced Immortal Verse.
What Should We Think Of Homer, Had He Sung His Impressions Of The
Ancient Egyptians? Or Of Thackeray, Had He Novelized The Life Of
The Babylonians? It Is An Ancient Blindness, With An Ancient Wall
To Bruise One's Head. It Is Only Those Who Seek Ointment Of The
Consecrated Clay That Gives Back Sight, Who See The Shining Way
At Their Feet, Who Beat Their Face Against No Wall, Who Safely
Climb The Heights. Henry Van Cortlandt Was A Man Of Rare Parts,
Of Every Advantage, But Still He Had Been Taught Steadfastly To
Live In The Past. His Eyes Were Yet To Be Opened. The Living
Present Was Not His -- But Yet To Be.
The Young Lawyer Had Been Assembling His Outfit At Vandam's
Warehouse, For, In Spite Of Scoffing Friends, He Knew That Rolf
Was Coming Back To Him.
When Rolf Saw The Pile Of Stuff That Was Gathered For That
Outfit, He Stared At It Aghast, Then Looked At Vandam, And
Together They Roared. There Was Everything For Light Housekeeping
And Heavy Doctoring, Even Chairs, A Wash Stand, A Mirror, A
Mortar, And A Pestle. Six Canoes Could Scarcely Have Carried The
Lot.
"'Tain't So Much The Young Man As His Mother," Explained Big
Pete; "At First I Tried To Make 'Em Understand, But It Was No
Use; So I Says, 'All Right, Go Ahead, As Long As There's Room In
The Warehouse.' I Reckon I'll Set On The Fence And Have Some Fun
Seein' Rolf Ontangle The Affair."
"Phew, Pheeeww -- Ph-E-E-E-E-W," Was All Rolf Could Say In
Answer. But At Last, "Wall, There's Always A Way. I
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