Rolf In The Woods by Ernest Thompson Seton (phonics story books .txt) 📕

Now That They Had The Cabin For Winter,  And Food For The Present,

They Must Set About The Serious Business Of Trapping And Lay A

Line Of Deadfalls For Use In The Coming Cold Weather.  They Were

A Little Ahead Of Time,  But It Was Very Desirable To Get Their

Lines Blazed Through The Woods In All Proposed Directions In Case

Of Any Other Trapper Coming In.  Most Fur-Bearing Animals Are To

Be Found Along The Little Valleys Of The Stream: Beaver,  Otter,

Mink,  Muskrat,  Coon,  Are Examples. Those That Do Not Actually

Live By The Water Seek These Places Because Of Their Sheltered

Character And Because Their Prey Lives There; Of This Class Are

The Lynx,  Fox,  Fisher,  And Marten That Feed On Rabbits And Mice.

Therefore A Line Of Traps Is Usually Along Some Valley And Over

The Divide And Down Some Other Valley Back To The Point Of

Beginning.

So,  Late In September,  Rolf And Quonab,  With Their Bedding,  A

Pot,  Food For Four Days,  And Two Axes,  Alternately Followed And

Led By Skookum,  Set Out Along A Stream That Entered The Lake Near

Their Cabin.  A Quarter Mile Up They Built Their First Deadfall

For Martens.  It Took Them One Hour And Was Left Unset.  The

Place Was Under A Huge Tree On A Neck Of Land Around Which The

Stream Made A Loop.  This Tree They Blazed On Three Sides.  Two

Hundred Yards Up Another Good Spot Was Found And A Deadfall Made.

At One Place Across A Neck Of Land Was A Narrow Trail Evidently

Worn By Otters.  "Good Place For Steel Trap,  Bime-By," Was

Quonab's Remark.

From Time To Time They Disturbed Deer,  And In A Muddy Place Where

A Deer Path Crossed The Creek,  They Found,  Among The Numerous

Small Hoof Prints,  The Track Of Wolves,  Bears,  And A Mountain

Lion,  Or Panther.  At These Little Skookum Sniffed Fearsomely,

And Showed By His Bristly Mane That He Was At Least Much

Impressed.

After Five Hours' Travel And Work They Came To Another Stream

Joining On,  And Near The Angle Of The Two Little Valleys They

Found A Small Tree That Was Chewed And Scratched In A Remarkable

Manner For Three To Six Feet Up. "Bear Tree," Said Quonab,  And By

Degrees Rolf Got The Facts About It.

The Bears,  And Indeed Most Animals,  Have A Way Of Marking The

Range That They Consider Their Own.  Usually This Is Done By

Leaving Their Personal Odour At Various Points,  Covering The

Country Claimed,  But In Some Cases Visible Marks Are Added.  Thus

The Beaver Leaves A Little Dab Of Mud,  The Wolf Scratches With

His Hind Feet,  And The Bear Tears The Signal Tree With Tooth And

Claw.  Since This Is Done From Time To Time,  When The Bear

Happens To Be Near The Tree,  It Is Kept Fresh As Long As The

Region Is Claimed. But It Is Especially Done In Midsummer When

The Bears Are Pairing,  And Helps Them To Find Suitable

Companions,  Nor All Are Then Roaming The Woods Seeking Mates; All

Call And Leave Their Mark On The Sign Post,  So The Next Bear,

Thanks To His Exquisite Nose,  Can Tell At Once The Sex Of The

Bear That Called Last And By Its Track Tell Which Way It

Travelled Afterward.

In This Case It Was A Bear's Register,  But Before Long Quonab

Showed Rolf A Place Where Two Long Logs Joined At An Angle By A

Tree That Was Rubbed And Smelly,  And Showed A Few Marten Hairs,

Indicating That This Was The Sign Post Of A Marten And A Good

Place To Make A Deadfall.

Yet A Third Was Found In An Open,  Grassy Glade,  A Large,  White

Stone On Which Were Pellets Left By Foxes.  The Indian Explained:

"Every Fox That Travels Near Will Come And Smell The Stone To See

Who Of His Kind Is Around,  So This Is A Good Place For A

Fox-Trap; A Steel Trap,  Of Course,  For No Fox Will Go Into A

Deadfall."

And Slowly Rolf Learned That These Habits Are Seen In Some

Measure In All Animals; Yes,  Down To The Mice And Shrews.  We See

Little Of It Because Our Senses Are Blunt And Our Attention

Untrained; But The Naturalist And The Hunter Always Know Where To

Look For The Four-Footed Inhabitants And By Them Can Tell Whether

Or Not The Land Is Possessed By Such And Such A Furtive Tribe.

At The Noon Halt They Were About Ten Miles From Home And Had Made

Fifteen Deadfalls For Marten,  For Practice Was Greatly Reducing

The Time Needed For Each.

In The Afternoon They Went On,  But The Creek Had Become A Mere

Rill And They Were Now High Up In A More Level Stretch Of Country

That Was More Or Less Swampy. As They Followed The Main Course Of

The Dwindling Stream,  Looking Ever For Signs Of Fur-Bearers,  They

Crossed And Recrossed The Water.  At Length Quonab Stopped,

Stared,  And Pointed At The Rill,  No Longer Clear But Clouded With

Mud.  His Eyes Shone As He Jerked His Head Up Stream And Uttered

The Magic Word,  "Beaver."

They Tramped Westerly For A Hundred Yards Through A Dense Swamp

Of Alders,  And Came At Last To An Irregular Pond That Spread Out

Among The Willow Bushes And Was Lost In The Swampy Thickets.

Following The Stream They Soon Came To A Beaver Dam,  A Long,

Curving Bank Of Willow Branches And Mud,  Tumbling Through The Top

Of Which Were A Dozen Tiny Streams That Reunited Their Waters

Below To Form The Rivulet They Had Been Following.

Red-Winged Blackbirds Were Sailing In Flocks About The Pond; A

Number Of Ducks Were To Be Seen,  And On A Dead Tree,  Killed By

The Backed Up Water,  A Great Blue Heron Stood.  Many Smaller

Creatures Moved Or Flitted In The Lively Scene,  While Far Out

Near The Middle Rose A Dome-Like Pile Of Sticks,  A Beaver Lodge,

And Farther Three More Were Discovered.  No Beaver Were Seen,  But

The Fresh Cut Sticks,  The Floating Branches Peeled Of All The

Bark,  And The Long,  Strong Dam In Good Repair Were Enough To Tell

A Practised Eye That Here Was A Large Colony Of Beavers In

Undisturbed Possession.

In Those Days Beaver Was One Of The Most Valued Furs. The

Creature Is Very Easy To Trap; So The Discovery Of The Pond Was

Like The Finding Of A Bag Of Gold.  They Skirted Its Uncertain

Edges And Quonab Pointed Out The Many Landing Places Of The

Beaver; Little Docks They Seemed,  Built Up With Mud And Stones

With Deep Water Plunge Holes Alongside.  Here And There On The

Shore Was A Dome-Shaped Ant's Nest With A Pathway To It From The

Pond,  Showing,  As The Indian Said,  That Here The Beaver Came On

Sunny Days To Lie On The Hill And Let The Swarming Ants Come

Forth And Pick The Vermin From Their Fur. At One High Point

Projecting Into The Still Water They Found A Little Mud Pie With

A Very Strong Smell; This,  The Indian Said,  Was A "Castor Cache,"

The Sign That,  Among Beavers,  Answers The Same Purpose As The

Bear Tree Among Bears.

Although The Pond Seemed Small They Had To Tramp A Quarter Of A

Mile Before Reaching The Upper End And Here They Found Another

Dam,  With Its Pond.  This Was At A Slightly Higher Level And

Contained A Single Lodge; After This They Found Others,  A Dozen

Ponds In A Dozen Successive Rises,  The First Or Largest And The

Second Only Having Lodges,  But All Were Evidently Part Of The

Thriving Colony,  For Fresh Cut Trees Were Seen On Every Side.

"Ugh,  Good; We Get Maybe Fifty Beaver," Said The Indian,  And They

Knew They Had Reached The Promised Land.

Rolf Would Gladly Have Spent The Rest Of The Day Exploring The

Pond And Trying For A Beaver,  When The Eventide Should Call Them

To Come Forth,  But Quonab Said,  "Only Twenty Deadfall; We Should

Have One Hundred And Fifty."  So Making For A Fine Sugar Bush On

The Dry Ground West Of The Ponds They Blazed A Big Tree,  Left A

Deadfall There,  And Sought The Easiest Way Over The Rough Hills

That Lay To The East,  In Hopes Of Reaching The Next Stream

Leading Down To Their Lake.

Skookum Was A Partly Trained Little Dog; He Would Stay In Camp

When Told,  If It Suited Him; And Would Not Hesitate To Follow Or

Lead His Master,  When He Felt That Human Wisdom Was Inferior To

The Ripe Product Of Canine Experience Covering More Than Thirteen

Moons Of Recollection.  But He Was Now Living A Life In Which His

Previous Experience Must Often Fail Him As A Guide.  A Faint

Rustling On The Leafy Ground Had Sent Him Ahead At A Run,  And His

Sharp,  Angry Bark Showed That Some Hostile Creature Of The Woods

Had Been Discovered.  Again And Again The Angry Yelping Was

Changed Into A Sort Of Yowl,  Half Anger,  Half Distress. The

Hunters Hurried Forward To Find The Little Fool Charging Again

And Again A Huge Porcupine That Was Crouched With Its Head Under

A Log,  Its Hindquarters Exposed But Bristling With Spines; And

Its Tail Lashing About,  Left A New Array Of Quills In The Dog's

Mouth And Face Each Time He Charged. Skookum Was A Plucky

Fighter,  But Plainly He Was Nearly Sick Of It.  The Pain Of The

Quills Would,  Of Course,  Increase Every Minute And With Each

Movement.  Quonab Took A Stout Stick And Threw The Porcupine Out

Of Its Retreat,  (Rolf Supposed To Kill It When The Head Was

Exposed,) But The Spiny One,  Finding A New And Stronger Enemy,

Wasted No Time In Galloping At Its Slow Lumbering Pace To The

Nearest Small Spruce Tree And Up That It Scrambled To A Safe

Place In The High Branches.

Now The Hunters Called The Dog.  He Was A Sorry-Looking Object,

Pawing At His Muzzle,  First With One Foot,  Then Another,  Trying

To Unswallow The Quills In His Tongue,  Blinking Hard,  Uttering

Little Painful Grunts And Whines As He Rubbed His Head Upon The

Ground Or On His Forelegs.  Rolf Held Him While Quonab,  With A

Sharp Jerk,  Brought Out Quill After Quill.  Thirty Or Forty Of

The Poisonous Little Daggers Were Plucked From His Trembling

Legs,  Head,  Face,  And Nostrils,  But The Dreadful Ones Were Those

In His Lips And Tongue.  Already They Were Deeply Sunk In The

Soft,  Quivering Flesh.  One By One Those In The Lips Were With-

Drawn By The Strong Fingers Of The Red Man,  And Skookum Whimpered

A Little,  But He Shrieked Outright When Those In The