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

As To Wisdom,  A Man Ain't A Spring; He's A Tank,  An' Gives Out

Only What He Gathers" -- Sayings Of Si Sylvanne

Quonab Would Not Quit His Nightly Couch In The Canvas Lodge So

Rolf And Skookum Stayed With Him.  The Dog Was Himself Again,  And

More Than Once In The Hours Of Gloom Dashed Forth In Noisy Chase

Of Something Which Morning Study Of The Tracks Showed To Have

Been Foxes.  They Were Attracted Partly By The Carrion Of The

Deer,  Partly By The General Suitability Of The Sandy Beach For A

Gambolling Place,  And Partly By A Foxy Curiosity Concerning The

Cabin,  The Hunters,  And Their Dog.

One Morning After Several Night Arousings And Many Raids By

Skookum,  Rolf Said: "Fox Is Good Now; Why Shouldn't I Add Some

Fox Pelts To That?" And He Pointed With Some Pride To The Marten

Skin.

"Ugh,  Good; Go Ahead; You Will Learn," Was The Reply.

So Getting Out The Two Fox Traps Rolf Set To Work.   Noting Where

Chiefly The Foxes Ran Or Played He Chose Two Beaten Pathways And

Hid The Traps Carefully,  Exactly As He Did For The Marten; Then

Selecting A Couple Of Small Cedar Branches He Cut These And Laid

Them Across The Path,  One On Each Side Of The Trap,  Assuming That

The Foxes  Following The Usual Route Would Leap Over The Boughs

And Land In Disaster.  To Make Doubly Sure He Put A Piece Of Meat

By Each Trap And Half-Way Between Them Set A Large Piece On A

Stone.

Then He Sprinkled Fresh Earth Over The Pathways And Around Each

Trap And Bait So He Should Have A Record Of The Tracks.

Foxes Came That Night,  As He Learned By The Footprints Along The

Beach,  But Never One Went Near His Traps.  He Studied The Marks;

They Slowly Told Him All The Main Facts. The Foxes Had Come As

Usual,  And Frolicked About.  They Had Discovered The Bait And The

Traps At Once -- How Could Such Sharp Noses Miss Them -- And As

Quickly Noted That The Traps Were Suspicious-Smelling Iron

Things,  That  Manscent,  Hand,  Foot,  And Body,  Were Very Evident

All About; That The Only Inducement To Go Forward Was Some Meat

Which Was Coarse And Cold,  Not For A Moment To Be  Compared With

The Hot Juicy Mouse Meat That Abounded In Every Meadow.  The

Foxes Were Well Fed And Unhungry. Why Should They Venture Into

Such Evident Danger?  In A Word,  Walls Of Stone Could Not Have

More Completely Protected The Ground And The Meat From The Foxes

Than Did The Obvious Nature Of The Traps; Not A Track Was Near,

And Many Afar Showed How Quickly They Had Veered Off.

"Ugh,  It Is Always So," Said Quonab.  "Will You Try Again?  "

"Yes,  I Will,  " Replied Rolf,  Remembering Now That He Had Omitted

To Deodorize His Traps And His Boots.

He Made A Fire Of Cedar And Smoked His Traps,  Chains,  And All.

Then Taking A Piece Of Raw Venison He Rubbed It On His Leather

Gloves And On The Soles Of His Boots,   Wondering How He Had

Expected To Succeed The Night Before With All These Man-Scent

Killers Left Out.  He Put Fine,  Soft Moss Under The Pan Of Each

Trap,  Then Removed The Cedar Brush,  And Gently Sprinkled All With

Fine,  Dry Earth.  The Set Was Perfect; No Human Eye Could Have

Told That There Was Any Trap In The Place.  It Seemed A Foregone

Success.

"Fox Don't Go By Eye,  " Was All The Indian Said,  For He Reckoned

It Best To Let The Learner Work It Out.

In The Morning Rolf Was Up Eager To See The Results. There Was

Nothing At All.  A Fox Had Indeed,  Come Within Ten Feet At One

Place,  But Behaved Then As Though  Positively Amused At The

Childishness Of The Whole Smelly Affair.  Had A Man Been There On

Guard With A Club,  He Could Not Have Kept The Spot More Wholly

Clear Of Foxes. Rolf Turned Away Baffled And Utterly Puzzled.  He

Had Not Gone Far Before He Heard A Most Terrific Yelping From

Skookum,  And Turned To See That Trouble-Seeking Pup Caught By The

Leg In The First Trap.  It Was More The Horrible Surprise Than

The Pain,  But He Did Howl.

The Hunters Came Quickly To The Rescue And At Once He Was Freed,

None The Worse,  For The Traps Have No Teeth; They Merely Hold.

It Is The Long Struggle And The  Starvation Chiefly That Are

Cruel,  And These Every Trapper  Should Cut Short By Going Often

Around His Line.

Now Quonab Took Part.  "That Is A Good Setting For Some Things.

It Would Catch A Coon,  A Mink,  Or A Marten,  -- Or A Dog -- But

Not A Fox Or A Wolf.  They Are Very Clever.  You Shall See."

The Indian Got Out A Pair Of Thick Leather Gloves,  Smoked Them In

Cedar,  Also The Traps.  Next He Rubbed His Moccasin  Soles With

Raw Meat And Selecting A Little Bay In The Shore He Threw A Long

Pole On The Sand,  From The Line Of High,  Dry Shingle Across To

The Water's Edge.  In His Hand He Carried A Rough Stake.  Walking

Carefully On The Pole And Standing On It,  He Drove The Stake In

At About Four Feet From The Shore; Then Split It,  And Stuffed

Some Soft Moss Into The Split.  On This He Poured Three Or Four

Drops Of The "Smell-Charm." Now He Put A Lump Of Spruce Gum On

The Pan Of The Trap,  Holding A Torch Under It Till The Gum Was

Fused,  And Into This He Pressed A Small,  Flat Stone. The Chain Of

The Trap He Fastened To A Ten-Pound Stone Of Convenient Shape,

And Sank The Stone In The Water Half-Way Between The Stake And

The Shore.  Last He Placed The Trap On This Stone,  So That When

Open Everything Would Be Under Water Except The Flat Stone On The

Pan.  Now He Returned Along The Pole And Dragged It Away With

Him.

Thus There Was Now No Track Or Scent Of Human Near The Place.

The Setting Was A Perfect One,  But Even Then The Foxes Did Not Go

Near It The Following Night; They Must Become Used To It.  In

Their Code,  " A Strange Thing Is Always Dangerous."  In The

Morning Rolf Was Inclined To Scoff. But Quonab Said: "Wah!  No

Trap Goes First Night."

They Did Not Need To Wait For The Second Morning.  In The Middle

Of The Night Skookum Rushed Forth Barking,  And They Followed To

See A Wild Struggle,  The Fox Leaping To Escape And Fast To His

Foot Was The Trap With Its Anchor Stone A-Dragging.

Then Was Repeated The Scene That Ended The Struggle Of Mink And

Marten.  The Creature's Hind Feet Were Tied Together And His Body

Hung From A Peg In The Shanty. In The Morning They Gloated Over

His Splendid Fur And Added His Coat To Their Store Of Trophies.

That Night The Moon Changed.  Next Day Came On With A Strong

North Wind. By Noon The Wild Ducks Had Left The Lake.  Many Long

Strings Of Geese Passed Southeastward,  Honking As They Flew.

Colder And Colder Blew The Strong Wind,  And Soon The Frost Was

Showing On The Smaller Ponds.  It Snowed A Little,  But This

Ceased.  With The Clearing Sky The Wind Fell And The Frost Grew

Keener.

At Daybreak,  When The Hunters Rose,  It Was Very Cold. Everything

But The Open Lake Was Frozen Over,  And They Knew That Winter Was

Come; The Time Of Trapping Was At Hand.  Quonab Went At Once To

The Pinnacle On The Hill,  Made A Little Fire,  Then Chanting The

"Hunter's Prayer," He Cast Into The Fire The Whiskers Of The Fox

And The Marten,  Some Of The Beaver Castor,  And Some Tobacco.

Then Descended To Prepare For The Trail -- Blankets,  Beaver

Traps,  Weapons,  And Food For Two Days,  Besides The Smell-Charm

And Some Fish For Bait.

Quickly The Deadfalls Were Baited And Set; Last The Indian Threw

Into The Trap Chamber A Piece Of Moss On Which Was A Drop Of The

"Smell," And Wiped Another Drop On Each Of His Moccasins.

"Phew," Said Rolf.

"That Make A Trail The Marten Follow For A Month," Was The

Explanation.  Skookum Seemed To Think So Too,  And If He Did Not

Say "Phew," It Was Because He Did Not Know How.

Very Soon The Little Dog Treed A Flock Of Partridge And Rolf With

Blunt Arrows Secured Three.  The Breasts Were Saved For The

Hunters' Table,  But The Rest With The Offal And Feathers Made The

Best Of Marten Baits And Served For All The Traps,  Till At Noon

They Reached The Beaver Pond.  It Was Covered With Ice Too Thin

To Bear,  But The Freshly Used Landing Places Were Easily

Selected.  At Each They Set A Strong,  Steel Beaver-Trap,

Concealing It Amid Some Dry Grass,  And Placing In A Split Stick A

Foot Away A Piece Of Moss In Which Were A Few Drops Of The Magic

Lure.  The Ring On The Trap Chain Was Slipped Over A Long,  Thin,

Smooth Pole Which Was Driven Deep In The Mud,  The Top Pointing

Away From The Deep Water.  The Plan Was Old And Proven.  The

Beaver,  Eager To Investigate That Semifriendly  Smell,  Sets Foot

In The Trap; Instinctively When In Danger He Dives For The Deep

Water; The Ring Slips Along The Pole Till At The Bottom And There

It Jams So That The Beaver Cannot Rise Again And Is Drowned."

In An Hour The Six Traps Were Set For The Beavers; Presently The

Hunters,  Skirmishing For More Partridges,  Had Much Trouble To

Save Skookum From Another Porcupine Disaster.

They Got Some More Grouse,  Baited The Traps For A Couple Of

Miles,  Then Camped For The Night.

Before Morning It Came On To Snow And It Was Three Inches Deep

When They Arose.  There Is No Place On Earth Where The First Snow

Is More Beautiful Than In The Adirondacks.   In Early Autumn

Nature Seems To Prepare For It. Green Leaves Are Cleared Away To

Expose The Berry Bunches In Red; Rushbeds Mass Their Groups,  Turn

Golden Brown And Bow Their Heads To Meet The Silver Load; The Low

Hills And The Lines Of Various Christmas Trees Are Arrayed For

The Finest Effect: The Setting Is Perfect And The Scene,  But It

Lacks The Lime Light Yet.  It Needs Must Have The Lavish Blaze Of

White.  And When It Comes Like The Veil On A Bride,  The Silver

Mountings On A Charger's Trappings,  Or The Golden Fire In A

Sunset,  The Shining Crystal Robe Is The Finishing,  The Crowning

Glory,  Without Which All The Rest Must Fail,  Could Have No Bright

Completeness.  Its Beauty Stirred The Hunters Though It Found No

Better Expression Than Rolf's Simple Words,  "Ain't It Fine,"

While The Indian Gazed In Silence.

There Is No Other Place In The Eastern Woods Where The Snow Has

Such Manifold Tales To Tell,  And The Hunters That Day Tramping

Found Themselves Dowered Over Night With The Wonderful Power Of

The Hound To Whom Each Trail Is A Plain Record Of Every Living

Creature That Has Passed Within Many Hours.  And Though The First

Day After A Storm Has Less To Tell Than The Second,  Just As The

Second Has Less Than The Third,  There Was No Lack Of Story In The

Snow.  Here Sped Some Antlered Buck,  Trotting Along While Yet The

White Was Flying.  There Went A Fox,  Sneaking Across The Line Of

March,  And Eying Distrustfully That Deadfall.  This Broad Trail

With Many Large Tracks Not Far Apart Was Made By One Of Skookum's

Friends,  A Knight Of Many Spears.  That Bounding Along Was A

Marten. See How He Quartered That Thicket Like A Hound,  Here He

Struck Our Odour Trail.  Mark,  How He Paused And Whiffed It; Now

Away He Goes; Yes,  Straight To