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

The Buck,  Nosing Among The

Herbage,  And,  From Time To Time,  Raising Its Superb Head And

Columnar Neck To Look Around. There Was No Cover But Creeping

Herbage. Rolf Suspected That The Indian Would Decoy The Buck By

Some Whistle Or Challenge,  For The Thickness Of Its Neck Showed

The Deer To Be In Fighting Humour.

 

Flat On His Breast The Indian Lay. His Knees And Elbow Seemed To

Develop Centipedic Power; His Head Was A Mere Clump Of Growing

Stuff. He Snaked His Way Quietly For Twenty-Five Yards,  Then Came

To The Open,  Sloping Shore,  With The River Forty Yards Wide Of

Level Shining Ice,  All In Plain View Of The Deer; How Was This To

Be Covered?

 

There Is A Well-Known Peculiarity Of The White Tail That The

Indian Was Counting On; When Its Head Is Down Grazing,  Even

Though Not Hidden,  The Deer Does Not See Distant Objects; Before

The Head Is Raised,  Its Tail Is Raised Or Shaken. Quonab Knew

That If He Could Keep The Tail In View,  He Could Avoid Being

Viewed By The Head. In A Word,  Only An Ill-Timed Movement Or A

Whiff Could Betray Him.

 

The Open Ice Was,  Of Course,  A Hard Test,  And The Hunter Might

Have Failed,  But That His Long Form Looked Like One Of The Logs

That Were Lying About Half Stranded Or Frozen In The Stream.

 

Watching Ever The Alert Head And Tail,  He Timed His Approach,

Working Hard And Moving East When The Head Was Down; But When

Warned By A Tail-Jerk He Turned To A Log Nor Moved A Muscle. Once

The Ice Was Crossed,  The Danger Of Being Seen Was Less,  But Of

Being Smelt Was Greater,  For The Deer Was Moving About,  And

Quonab Watched The Smoke From The Cabin For Knowledge Of The

Wind. So He Came Within Fifty Yards,  And The Buck,  Still Sniffing

Along And Eagerly Champing The Few Red Cranberries It Found Above

The Frozen Moss,  Was Working Toward A Somewhat Higher Cover. The

Herbage Was Now Fully Eighteen Inches High,  And Quonab Moved A

Little Faster. The Buck Found A Large Patch Of Berries Under A

Tussock And Dropped On Its Knees To Pick Them Out,  While Quonab

Saw The Chance And Gained Ten Yards Before The Tail Gave Warning.

After So Long A Feeding-Spell,  The Buck Took An Extra Long

Lookout,  And Then Walked Toward The Timber,  Whereby The Indian

Lost All He Had Gained. But The Browser's Eye Was Drawn By A

Shining Bunch Of Red,  Then Another; And Now The Buck Swung Until

There Was Danger Of Betrayal By The Wind; Then Down Went Its Head

And Quonab Retreated Ten Yards To Keep The Windward. Once The

Buck Raised Its Muzzle And Sniffed With Flaring Nostrils,  As

Though Its Ancient Friend Had Brought A Warning. But Soon He

Seemed Reassured,  For The Landscape Showed No Foe,  And Nosed Back

And Forth,  While Quonab Regained The Yards He Had Lost. The Buck

Worked Now To The Taller Cover,  And Again A Tempting Bunch Of

Berries Under A Low,  Dense Bush Caused It To Kneel For Farther

Under-Reaching. Quonab Glided Swiftly Forward,  Reached The

Twenty-Five-Yard Limit,  Rose To One Knee,  Bent The Stark Cedar

Bow. Rolf Saw The Buck Bound In Air,  Then Make For The Wood With

Great,  High Leaps; The Dash Of Disappointment Was On Him,  But

Quonab Stood Erect,  With Right Hand Raised,  And Shouted:

 

"Ho -- Ho."

 

He Knew That Those Bounds Were Unnecessarily High,  And Before The

Woods Had Swallowed Up The Buck,  It Fell  -- Rose -- And Fell

Again,  To Rise Not. The Arrow Had Pierced Its Heart.

 

Then Rolf Rushed Up With Kindled Eye And Exultant Pride To Slap

His Friend On The Back,  And Exclaim:

 

"I Never Thought It Possible; The Greatest Feat In Hunting I Ever

Saw; You Are A Wonder!"

 

To Which The Indian Softly Replied,  As He Smiled:

 

"Ho! It Was So I Got Eleven British Sentries In The War. They

Gave Me A Medal With Washington's Head."

 

"They Did! How Is It I Never Heard Of It? Where Is It?"

 

The Indian's Face Darkened. "I Threw It After The Ship That Stole

My Gamowini."

 

Chapter 66 (Rolf Meets A Canuck)

 

The Winter Might Have Been Considered Eventful,  Had Not So Many

Of The Events Been Repetitions Of Former Experience. But There

Were Several That By Their Newness Deserve A Place On These

Pages,  As They Did In Rolf's Memory.

 

One Of Them Happened Soon After The First Sharp Frost. It Had

Been An Autumn Of Little Rain,  So That Many Ponds Had Dried Up,

With The Result That Hundreds Of Muskrats Were Forced Out To Seek

More Habitable Quarters. The First Time Rolf Saw One Of These

Stranded Mariners On Its Overland Journey,  He Gave Heedless

Chase. At First It Made Awkward Haste To Escape; Then A Second

Muskrat Was Discovered Just Ahead,  And A Third. This Added To

Rolf's Interest. In A Few Bounds He Was Among Them,  But It Was To

Get A Surprise. Finding Themselves Overtaken,  The Muskrats Turned

In Desperation And Attacked The Common Enemy With Courage And

Fury. Rolf Leaped Over The First,  But The Second Sprang,  Caught

Him By The Slack Of The Trouser Leg,  And Hung On. The Third Flung

Itself On His Foot And Drove Its Sharp Teeth Through The

Moccasin. Quickly The First Rallied And Sprang On His Other Leg

With All The Force Of Its Puny Paws,  And Powerful Jaws.

 

Meanwhile Quonab Was Laughing Aloud And Holding Back Skookum,

Who,  Breathing Fire And Slaughter,  Was Mad To Be In The Fight.

 

"Ho! A Good Fight! Good Musquas! Ho,  Skookum,  You Must Not Always

Take Care Of Him,  Or He Will Not Learn To Go Alone.

 

"Ugh,  Good!" As The Third Muskrat Gripped Rolf By The Calf.

 

There Could Be But One Finish,  And That Not Long Delayed. A

Well-Placed Kick On One,  The Second Swung By The Tail,  The Third

Crushed Under His Heel,  And The Affair Ended. Rolf Had Three

Muskrats And Five Cuts. Quonab Had Much Joy And Skookum A Sense

Of Lost Opportunity.

 

"This We Should Paint On The Wigwam," Said Quonab. "Three Great

Warriors Attacked One Sagamore. They Were Very Brave,  But He Was

Nibowaka And Very Strong; He Struck Them Down As The Thunderbird,

Hurakan,  Strikes The Dead Pines The Fire Has Left On The Hilltop

Against The Sky. Now Shall You Eat Their Hearts,  For They Were

Brave. My Father Told Me A Fighting Muskrat's Heart Is Great

Medicine; For He Seeks Peace While It Is Possible,  Then He Turns

And Fights Without Fear."

 

A Few Days Later,  They Sighted A Fox. In Order To Have A Joke On

Skookum,  They Put Him On Its Track,  And Away He Went,  Letting Off

His Joy-Whoops At Every Jump. The Men Sat Down To Wait,  Knowing

Full Well That After An Hour Skookum Would Come Back With A Long

Tongue And An Air Of Depression. But They Were Favoured With An

Unexpected View Of The Chase. It Showed A Fox Bounding Over The

Snow,  And Not Twenty Yards Behind Was Their Energetic Four-Legged

Colleague.

 

And,  Still More Unexpected,  The Fox Was Overtaken In The Next

Thicket,  Shaken To Limpness,  And Dragged To Be Dropped At

Quonab's Feet. This Glorious Victory By Skookum Was Less

Surprising,  When A Closer Examination Showed That The Fox Had

Been In A Bad Way. Through Some Sad,  Sudden Indiscretion,  He Had

Tackled A Porcupine And Paid The Penalty. His Mouth,  Jaws And

Face,  Neck And Legs,  Were Bristling With Quills. He Was Sick And

Emaciated. He Could Not Have Lasted Many Days Longer,  And

Skookum's Summary Lynching Was A Blessing In Disguise.

 

The Trappers' Usual Routine Was Varied By A More Important

Happening. One Day Of Deep Snow In January,  When They Were

Running The Northern Line On Racquet River,  They Camped For The

Night At Their Shelter Cabin,  And Were Somewhat Surprised At Dusk

To Hear A Loud Challenge From Skookum Replied To By A Human

Voice,  And A Short Man With Black Whiskers Appeared. He Raised

One Hand In Token Of Friendliness And Was Invited To Come In.

 

He Was A French Canadian From La Colle Mills. He Had Trapped Here

For Some Years. The Almost Certainty Of War Between Canada And

The States Had Kept His Usual Companions Away. So He Had Trapped

Alone,  Always A Dangerous Business,  And Had Gathered A Lot Of

Good Fur,  But Had Fallen On The Ice And Hurt Himself Inwardly,  So

That He Had No Strength. He Could Tramp Out On Snowshoes,  But

Could Not Carry His Pack Of Furs. He Had Long Known That He Had

Neighbours On The South; The Camp Fire Smoke Proved That,  And He

Had Come Now To Offer All His Furs For Sale.

 

Quonab Shook His Head,  But Rolf Said,  "We'll Come Over And See

Them."

 

A Two-Hours' Tramp In The Morning Brought Them To The Frenchman's

Cabin. He Opened Out His Furs; Several Otter,  Many Sable,  Some

Lynx,  Over Thirty Beaver -- The Whole Lot For Two Hundred

Dollars. At Lyons Falls They Were Worth Double That.

 

Rolf Saw A Chance For A Bargain. He Whispered,  "We Can Double Our

Money On It,  Quonab. What Do Ye Say?"

 

The Reply Was Simply,  "Ugh! You Are Nibowaka."

 

"We'll Take Your Offer,  If We Can Fix It Up About Payment,  For I

Have No Money With Me And Barely Two Hundred Dollars At The

Cabin."

 

"You Half Tabac And Grosairs? "

 

"Yes,  Plenty."

 

"You Can Go 'Get 'Em ? Si?"

 

Rolf Paused,  Looked Down,  Then Straight At The Frenchman.

 

"Will You Trust Me To Take Half The Fur Now; When I Come Back

With The Pay I Can Get The Rest."

 

The Frenchman Looked Puzzled,  Then,  "By Gar You Look De Good

Look. I Let Um Go. I Tink You Pretty Good Fellow,  Parbleu!"

 

So Rolf Marched Away With Half The Furs And Four Days Later He

Was Back And Paid The Pale-Faced But Happy Frenchman The One

Hundred And Fifty Dollars He Had Received From Van Cortlandt,

With Other Bills Making One Hundred And Ninety-Five Dollars And

With Groceries And Tobacco Enough To Satisfy The Trapper. The

Frenchman Proved A Most Amiable Character. He And Rolf Took To

Each Other Greatly,  And When They Shook Hands At Parting,  It Was

In The Hope Of An Early And Happier Meeting.

 

Francois La Colle Turned Bravely For The Ninety-Mile Tramp Over

The Snow To His Home,  While Rolf Went South With The Furs That

Were To Prove A Most Profitable Investment,  Shaping His Life In

Several Ways,  And Indirectly Indeed Of Saving It On One Occasion.

 

 

Chapter 67 (War)

Eighteen Hundred And Twelve Had Passed Away. President Madison,

Driven By Wrongs To His Countrymen And Indignities That No Nation

Should Meekly Accept,  Had In The Midsummer Declared War On Great

Britain. Unfitted To Cope With The Situation And Surrounded By

Unfit Counsellors,  His Little Army Of Heroic Men Led By Unfit

Commanders Had Suffered One Reverse After Another.

 

The Loss Of Fort Mackinaw,  Chicago,  Detroit,  Brownstown,  And The

Total Destruction Of The American Army That Attacked Queenstown

Were But Poorly Offset By The Victory At Niagara And The

Successful Defence Of Ogdensburg.

 

Rolf And Quonab Had Repaired To Albany As Arranged,  But They Left

It As United States Scouts,  Not As Guides To The Four Young

Sportsmen Who Wished To Hark Back To The Primitive.

 

Their First Commission Had Been The Bearing Of Despatches To

Plattsburg.

 

With A Selected Light Canoe And A Minimum Of