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

The Far End Of The Long Swamp The Stream Emerged,  Now Much

Larger,  And The Trappers Kept On With Their Work.  When Night

Fell They Had Completed Fifty Traps,  All Told,  And Again They

Camped Without Shelter Overhead.

Next Day Skookum Was So Much Worse That They Began To Fear For

His Life.  He Had Eaten Nothing Since The Sad Encounter.  He

Could Drink A Little,  So Rolf Made A Pot Of Soup,  And When It Was

Cool The Poor Doggie Managed To Swallow Some Of The Liquid After

Half An Hour's Patient Endeavour.

They Were Now On The Home Line; From A Hill Top They Got A

Distant View Of Their Lake,  Though It Was At Least Five Miles

Away.  Down The Creek They Went,  Still Making Their Deadfalls At

Likely Places And Still Seeing Game Tracks At The Muddy Spots.

The Creek Came At Length To An Extensive,   Open,  Hardwood Bush,

And Here It Was Joined By Another  Stream That Came From The

South,  The Two Making A Small River.  From Then On They Seemed In

A Land Of Game; Trails Of Deer Were Seen On The Ground

Everywhere,  And Every Few Minutes They Started One Or Two Deer.

The Shady Oak Wood Itself Was Flanked And Varied With Dense Cedar

Swamps Such As The Deer Love To Winter In,  And After They Had

Tramped Through Two Miles Of It,  The Indian Said,  "Good! Now We

Know Where To Come In Winter When We Need Meat."

At A Broad,  Muddy Ford They Passed An Amazing Number Of Tracks,

Mostly Deer,  But A Few Of Panther,  Lynx,  Fisher,  Wolf,  Otter,  And

Mink.

In The Afternoon They Reached The Lake.  The Stream,  Quite A

Broad One Here,  Emptied In About Four Miles South Of The Camp.

Leaving A Deadfall Near Its Mouth They Followed The Shore And

Made A Log Trap Every Quarter Mile Just Above The High Water

Mark.

When They Reached The Place Of Rolf's First Deer They Turned

Aside To See It.  The Gray Jays Had Picked A Good Deal Of The

Loose Meat.  No Large Animal Had Troubled It,  And Yet In The

Neighbourhood They Found The Tracks Of Both Wolves And Foxes;

"Ugh," Said Quonab,  "They Smell It And Come Near,  But They Know

That A Man Has Been Here; They Are Not Very Hungry,  So Keep Away.

This Is Good For Trap."

So They Made Two Deadfalls With The Carrion Half Way Between

Them.  Then One Or Two More Traps And They Reached Home,  Arriving

At The Camp Just As Darkness And A Heavy Rainfall Began.

"Good," Said Quonab,  "Our Deadfalls Are Ready; We Have Done All

The Work Our Fingers Could Not Do When The Weather Is Very Cold,

And The Ground Too Hard For Stakes To Be Driven.  Now The Traps

Can Get Weathered Before We Go Round And Set Them.  Yet We Need

Some Strong Medicine,  Some Trapper Charm."

Next Morning He Went Forth With Fish-Line And Fish-Spear; He Soon

Returned With A Pickerel.  He Filled A Bottle With Cut-Up Shreds

Of This,  Corked It Up,  And Hung It On The Warm,  Sunny Side Of The

Shanty.  "That Will Make A Charm That Every Bear Will Come To,  "

He Said,  And Left It To The Action Of The Sun.

Getting Home Is Always A Joy; But Walking About The Place In The

Morning They Noticed Several Little Things That Were Wrong.

Quonab's Lodge Was Down,  The Paddles That Stood Against The

Shanty Were Scattered On The Ground,  And A Bag Of Venison Hung

High At The Ridge Was Opened And Empty.

Quonab Studied The Tracks And Announced "A Bad Old Black Bear; He

Has Rollicked Round For Mischief,  Upsetting Things.  But The

Venison He Could Not Reach; That Was A Marten That Ripped Open

The Bag."

"Then That Tells What We Should Do; Build A Storehouse At The End

Of The Shanty,  " Said Rolf,  Adding,  "It Must Be Tight And It Must

Be Cool."

"Maybe! Sometime Before Winter," Said The Indian; "But Now We

Should Make Another Line Of Traps While The Weather Is Fine."

"No," Replied The Lad,  "Skookum Is Not Fit To Travel Now.  We

Can't Leave Him Behind,  And We Can Make A Storehouse In Three

Days."

The Unhappy Little Dog Was Worse Than Ever.  He Could Scarcely

Breathe,  Much Less Eat Or Drink,  And The Case Was Settled.

First They Bathed The Invalid's Head In Water As Hot As He Could

Stand It.  This Seemed To Help Him So Much That He Swallowed

Eagerly Some Soup That They Poured Into His Mouth.  A Bed Was

Made For Him In A Sunny Place And The Hunters Set About The New

Building.

In Three Days The Storehouse Was Done,  Excepting The Chinking.

It Was October Now,  And A Sharp Night Frost Warned Them Of The

Hard White Moons To Come.  Quonab,  As He Broke The Ice In A Tin

Cup And Glanced At The Low-Hung Sun,  Said: "The Leaves Are

Falling Fast; Snow Comes Soon; We Need Another Line Of Traps."

He Stopped Suddenly; Stared Across The Lake.  Rolf Looked,  And

Here Came Three Deer,  Two Bucks And A Doe,  Trotting,  Walking,  Or

Lightly Clearing Obstacles,  The Doe In Advance; The Others,  Rival

Followers.  As They Kept Along The Shore,  They Came Nearer The

Cabin.  Rolf Glanced At Quonab,  Who Nodded,  Then Slipped In,  Got

Down The Gun,  And Quickly Glided Unseen To The River Where The

Deer Path Landed.  The Bucks Did Not Actually Fight,  For The

Season Was Not Yet On,  But Their Horns Were Clean,  Their Necks

Were Swelling,  And They Threatened Each Other As They Trotted

After The Leader.  They Made For The Ford As For Some Familiar

Path,  And Splashed Through,  Almost Without Swimming.  As They

Landed,  Rolf Waited A Clear View,  Then Gave A Short Sharp "Hist!"

It Was Like A Word Of Magic,  For It Turned The Three Moving Deer

To Three Stony-Still Statues.  Rolf's Sights Were Turned On The

Smaller Buck,  And When The Great Cloud Following The Bang Had

Deared Away,  The Two Were Gone And The Lesser Buck Was Kicking On

The Ground Some Fifty Yards Away.

"We Have Found The Good Hunting; The Deer Walk Into Camp," Said

Quonab; And The Product Of The Chase Was Quickly Stored,  The

First Of The Supplies To Be Hung In The New Storehouse.

The Entrails Were Piled Up And Covered With Brush And Stones.

"That Will Keep Off Ravens And Jays; Then In Winter The Foxes

Will Come And We Can Take Their Coats."

Now They Must Decide For The Morning.  Skookum Was Somewhat

Better,  But Still Very Sick,  And Rolf Suggested: "Quonab,  You

Take The Gun And Axe And Lay A New Line.  I Will Stay Behind And

Finish Up The Cabin For The Winter And Look After The Dog."  So

It Was Agreed.  The Indian Left The Camp Alone This Time And

Crossed To The East Shore Of The Lake; There To Follow Up Another

Stream As Before And To Return In Three Or Four Days To The Cabin.

Rolf Began The Day By Giving Skookum A Bath As Hot As He Could

Stand It,  And Later His Soup. For The First He Whined Feebly And

For The Second Faintly Wagged His Tail; But Clearly He Was On The

Mend.

Now The Chinking And Moss-Plugging Of The New Cabin Required All

Attention.  That Took A Day And Looked Like The Biggest Job On

Hand,  But Rolf Had Been Thinking Hard About The Winter.  In

Connecticut The Wiser Settlers Used To Bank Their Houses For The

Cold Weather; In The Adiron- Dacks He Knew It Was Far,  Far

Colder,  And He Soon Decided To Bank The Two Shanties As Deeply As

Possible With Earth. A Good Spade Made Of White Oak,  With Its

Edge Hardened By Roasting It Brown,  Was His First Necessity,  And

After Two Days Of Digging He Had The Cabin With Its Annex Buried

Up To "The Eyes" In Fresh,  Clean Earth.

A Stock Of New,  Dry Wood For Wet Weather Helped To Show How Much

Too Small The Cabin Was; And Now The Heavier Work Was Done,  And

Rolf Had Plenty Of Time To Think.

Which Of Us That Has Been Left Alone In The Wilderness Does Not

Remember The Sensations Of The First Day!  The Feeling Of

Self-Dependency,  Not Unmixed With Unrestraint; The Ending Of

Civilized Thought; The Total Reversion To The Primitive; The

Nearness Of The Wood-Folk; A Sense Of Intimacy;  A Recurrent

Feeling Of Awe At The Silent Inexorability Of All Around; And A

Sweet Pervading Sense Of Mastery In The Very Freedom.  These Were

Among The Feelings That Swept In Waves Through Rolf,  And When The

First Night Came,  He Found Such Comfort -- Yes,  He Had To Confess

It -- In The Company Of The Helpless Little Dog Whose Bed Was By

His Own.

But These Were Sensations That Come Not Often; In The Four Days

And Nights That He Was Alone They Lost All Force.

The Hunter Proverb About "Strange Beasts When You Have No Gun"

Was Amply Illustrated Now That Quonab Had Gone With Their Only

Firearm.  The Second Night Before Turning In (He Slept In The

Shanty Now),  He Was Taking A Last Look At The Stars,  When A

Large,  Dark Form Glided Among The Tree Trunks Between Him And The

Shimmering Lake; Stopped,  Gazed At Him,  Then Silently Disappeared

Along The Shore.  No Wonder That He Kept The Shanty Door Closed

That Night,  And Next Morning When He Studied The Sandy Ridges He

Read Plainly That His Night Visitor Had Been Not A Lynx Or A Fox,

But A Prowling Cougar Or Panther.

On The Third Morning As He Went Forth In The Still Early Dawn He

Heard A Snort,  And Looking Toward The Spruce Woods,  Was Amazed To

See Towering Up,  Statuesque,  Almost Grotesque,  With Its Mulish

Ears And Antediluvian Horns,  A Large Bull Moose.

Rolf Was No Coward,  But The Sight Of That Monster So Close To Him

Set His Scalp A-Prickling.  He Felt So  Helpless Without Any

Firearms.  He Stepped Into The Cabin,  Took Down His Bow And

Arrows,  Then Gave A Contemptuous  "Humph; All Right For Partridge

And Squirrels,  But Give Me A Rifle For The Woods!"  He Went Out

Again; There Was The Moose Standing As Before.  The Lad Rushed

Toward It A Few Steps,  Shouting; It Stared Unmoved.  But Rolf Was

Moved,  And He Retreated To The Cabin.  Then Remembering The

Potency Of Fire He Started A Blaze On The Hearth.  The Thick

Smoke Curled Up On The Still Air,  Hung Low,  Made