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

Fisher Were Trying To Tire Out The Tail Or Use Up All Its Quills.

Sometimes The Assailant Leaped On The Log And Teased The

Quill-Pig To Strike Upward,  While Many White Daggers Already Sunk

In The Bark Showed That These Tactics Had Been Going On For Some

Time.

Now The Two Spectators Saw By The Trail That A Similar Battle Had

Been Fought At Another Log,  And That The  Porcupine Trail From

That Was Spotted With Blood.  How The Fisher Had Forced It Out

Was Not Then Clear,  But Soon Became So.

After Feinting Till The Kahk Would Not Strike,  The Pekan Began A

New Manceuvre.  Starting On The Opposite Side Of The Log That

Protected The Spiny One's Nose,  He Burrowed Quickly Through The

Snow And Leaves.  The Log Was About Three Inches From The Ground,

And Before The Porcupine  Could Realize It,  The Fisher Had A

Space Cleared And Seized The Spiny One By Its Soft,  Unspiny Nose.

Grunting And Squealing It Pulled Back And Lashed Its Terrible

Tail. To What Effect?  Merely To Fill The Log Around With Quills.

With All Its Strength The Quill-Pig Pulled And Writhed,  But The

Fisher Was Stronger.  His Claws Enlarged The Hole And When The

Victim Ceased From Exhaustion,  The Fisher Made A Forward Dash And

Changed His Hold From The Tender Nose To The Still More Tender

Throat Of The Porcupine.  His Hold Was Not Deep Enough And Square

Enough To Seize The Windpipe,   But He Held On.  For A Minute Or

Two The Struggles Of Kahk Were Of Desperate Energy And Its

Lashing Tail Began To Be Short Of Spines,  But A Red Stream

Trickling From The Wound Was Sapping Its Strength.  Protected By

The Log,  The Fisher Had But To Hold On And Play A Waiting Game.

The Heaving And Backward Pulling Of Kahk Were Very Feeble At

Length; The Fisher Had Nearly Finished The Fight.  But He Was

Impatient Of Further Delay And Backing Out Of The Hole He Mounted

The Log,  Displaying A Much Scratched Nose; Then Reaching Down

With Deft Paw,  Near The Quill-Pig's Shoulder,  He Gave A Sudden

Jerk That Threw The Former Over On Its Back,  And Before It Could

Recover,  The Fisher's Jaws Closed On Its Ribs,  And Crushed And

Tore.  The Nerveless,  Almost Quilless Tail Could Not Harm Him

There.  The Red Blood Flowed And The Porcupine Lay Still.  Again

And Again As He Uttered Chesty Growls The Pekan Ground His Teeth

Into The Warm Flesh And Shook And Worried The Unconquerable  One

He Had Conquered.  He Was Licking His Bloody Chops For The

Twentieth Time,  Gloating In Gore,  When "Crack" Went Quonab's Gun,

And The Pekan Had An  Opportunity Of Resuming The Combat With

Kahk Far Away In The Happy Hunting.

"Yap,  Yap,  Yap!" And In Rushed Skookum,  Dragging The End Of

Rolf's Sash Which He Had Gnawed Through In His Determination To

Be In The Fight,  No Matter What It Cost; And It Was Entirely Due

To The Fact That The Porcupine Was Belly Up,  That Skookum Did Not

Have Another Hospital Experience.

This Was Rolf's First Sight Of A Fisher,  And He Examined It As

One Does Any Animal -- Or Man -- That One Has So Long Heard

Described In Superlative Terms That It Has Become Idealized Into

A Semi-Myth.  This Was The Desperado Of The Woods; The Weird

Black Cat That Feared No Living Thing. This Was The Only One That

Could Fight And Win Against Kahk.

They Made A Fire At Once,  And While Rolf Got The Mid-Day Meal Of

Tea And Venison,  Quonab Skinned The Fisher.  Then He Cut Out Its

Heart And Liver.  When These Were Cooked He Gave The First To

Rolf And The Second To Skookum,  Saying To The One,  "I Give You A

Pekan Heart;" And To The Dog,  "That Will Force All Of The Quills

Out Of You If You Play The Fool Again,  As I Think You Will."

In The Skin Of The Fisher's Neck And Tail They Found  Several

Quills,  Some Of Them New,  Some Of Them Dating  Evidently From

Another Fight Of The Same Kind,  But None Of Them Had Done Any

Damage.  There Was No Inflammation Or Sign Of Poisoning.  "It Is

Ever So," Said Quonab,  "The Quills Cannot Hurt Him."  Then,

Turning To The Porcupine,  He Remarked,  As He Prepared To Skin It:

"Ho,  Kahk! You See Now It Was A Big Mistake You Did Not Let Nana

Bojou Sit On The Dry End Of That Log."

They Were Returning To The Cabin,  One Day,  When Quonab Stopped

And Pointed.  Away Off On The Snow Of The Far Shore Was A Moving

Shape To Be Seen.

"Fox,  And I Think Silver Fox; He So Black.  I Think He Lives

There."

"Why?"   "I Have Seen Many Times A Very Big Fox Track,  And They

Do Not Go Where They Do Not Live.  Even In Winter They Keep Their

Own Range."

"He's Worth Ten Martens,  They Say?" Queried Rolf.

"Ugh! Fifty."

"Can't We Get Him?"

"Can Try.  But The Water Set Will Not Work In Winter; We Must Try

Different."

This Was The Plan,  The Best That Quonab Could Devise For The

Snow: Saving The Ashes From The Fire (Dry Sand Would Have

Answered),  He Selected Six Open Places In The Woods On The South

Of The Lake,  And In Each Made An Ash Bed On Which He Scattered

Three Or Four Drops Of The  Smell-Charm.  Then,  Twenty-Five Yards

From Each,  On The North Or West Side (The Side Of The Prevailing

Wind) He Hung From Some Sapling A Few Feathers,  A Partridge Wing

Or Tail With Some Red Yarns To It.  He Left The Places Unvisited

For Two Weeks,  Then Returned To Learn The Progress Of Act One.

Judging From Past Experience Of Fox Nature And From The Few Signs

That Were Offered By The Snow,  This Is What Had Happened: A Fox

Came Along Soon After The Trappers Left,  Followed The Track A

Little Way,  Came To The First  Opening,  Smelled The Seductive

Danger-Lure,  Swung Around It,  Saw The Dangling Feathers,  Took

Alarm,  And Went Off. Another Of The Places Had Been Visited By A

Marten.  He Had Actually Scratched In The Ashes.  A Wolf Had Gone

Around Another At A Safe Distance.

Another Had Been Shunned Several Times By A Fox Or By Foxes,  But

They Had Come Again And Again And At Last Yielded To The

Temptation To Investigate The Danger-Smell; Finally Had Rolled In

It,  Evidently Wallowing In An Abandon Of Delight.  So Far,  The

Plan Was Working There.

The Next Move Was To Set The Six Strong Fox Traps,  Each

Thoroughly Smoked,  And Chained To A Fifteen-Pound Block Of Wood.

Approaching The Place Carefully And Using His Blood-Rubbed

Glove,  Quonab Set In Each Ash Pile A Trap.  Under Its Face He Put

A Wad Of White Rabbit Fur.  Next He Buried All In The Ashes,

Scattered A Few Bits Of Rabbit And A Few Drops Of Smell-Charm,

Then Dashed Snow Over The Place,  Renewed The Dangling Feathers To

Lure The Eye; And Finally Left The Rest To The Weather.

Rolf Was Keen To Go The Next Day,  But The Old Man Said: "Wah! No

Good! No Trap Go First Night; Man Smell Too Strong."  The Second

Day There Was A Snowfall,  And The Third Morning Quonab Said,  "Now

Seem Like Good Time."

The First Trap Was Untouched,  But There Was Clearly The Track Of

A Large Fox Within Ten Yards Of It.

The Second Was Gone.  Quonab Said,  With Surprise In His Voice,

"Deer!"  Yes,  Truly,  There Was The Record. A Deer -- A Big One --

Had Come Wandering Past; His Keen Nose Soon Apprised Him Of A

Strong,  Queer Appeal Near By.  He Had Gone Unsuspiciously Toward

It,  Sniffed And Pawed The Unaccountable And Exciting Nose

Medicine; Then "Snap!" And He Had Sprung A Dozen Feet,  With That

Diabolic Smell-Thing Hanging To His Foot.  Hop,  Hop,  Hop,  The

Terrified Deer Had Gone Into A Slashing Windfall.  Then The Drag

Had Caught On The Logs,  And,  Thanks To The Hard And Taper Hoofs,

The Trap Had Slipped Off And Been Left Behind,  While The Deer Had

Sought Safer Regions.

In The Next Trap They Found A Beautiful Marten Dead,  Killed At

Once By The Clutch Of Steel.  The Last Trap Was Gone,  But The

Tracks And The Marks Told A Tale That Any One Could Read; A Fox

Had Been Beguiled And Had Gone Off,  Dragging The Trap And Log.

Not Far Did They Need To Go; Held In A Thicket They Found Him,

And Rolf Prepared The Mid-Day Meal While Quonab Gathered The

Pelt.  After Removing The Skin The Indian Cut Deep And Carefully

Into The Body Of The Fox And Removed The Bladder.  Its  Contents

Sprinkled Near Each Of The Traps Was Good Medicine,  He Said; A

View That Was Evidently Shared By Skookum.

More Than Once They Saw The Track Of The Big Fox Of The Region,

But Never Very Near The Snare.  He Was Too Clever To Be Fooled By

Smell-Spells Or Kidney Products,  No Matter How Temptingly

Arrayed.  The Trappers Did,  Indeed,  Capture Three Red Foxes; But

It Was At Cost Of Great Labour.  It Was A Venture That Did Not

Pay.  The Silver Fox Was There,  But He Took Too Good Care Of His

Precious Hide.  The Slightest Hint Of A Man Being Near Was Enough

To Treble His Already Double Wariness.  They Would Never Have

Seen Him Near At Hand,  But For A Stirring Episode That Told A

Tale Of Winter Hardship.

If Skookum Could Have Been Interviewed By A Newspaper Man,  He

Would Doubtless Have Said: "I Am A Very Remarkable Dog.  I Can

Tree Partridges. I'm Death On Porcupines.  I Am Pretty Good In A

Dog Fight; Never Was Licked In Fact: But My Really Marvellous

Gift Is My Speed; I'm A Terror To Run."

Yes,  He Was Very Proud Of His Legs,  And The Foxes That Came About

In The Winter Nights Gave Him Many Opportunities  Of Showing What

He Could Do.  Many Times Over He Very Nearly Caught A Fox.

Skookum Did Not Know That These Wily Ones Were Playing With Him;

But They Were,  And Enjoyed It Immensely.

The Self-Sufficient Cur Never Found This Out,  And Never Lost A

Chance Of Nearly Catching A Fox.  The Men Did Not See Those

Autumn Chases Because They Were By Night; But Foxes Hunt Much By

Day In Winter,  Perforce,  And Are Often Seen; And More Than Once

They Witnessed One Of These Farcical Races.

And Now The Shining White Furnished Background For A Much More

Important Affair.

It Was Near Sundown One Day When A Faint Fox Bark Was Heard Out

On The Snow-Covered Ice Of The Lake.

"That's For Me," Skookum Seemed To Think,  And Jumping  Up,  With A

Very Fierce Growl,  He Trotted Forth; The Men Looked First From

The Window.  Out On The Snow,  Sitting On His Haunches,  Was Their

Friend,  The Big,  Black Silver Fox.

Quonab Reached For His Gun And Rolf Tried To Call Skookum,  But It

Was Too Late.  He Was Out To Catch That Fox; Their Business Was

To Look On And Applaud.  The Fox Sat On His Haunches,  Grinning

Apparently,  Until Skookum Dashed Through The Snow Within Twenty

Yards.  Then,  That Shining,  Black Fox Loped Gently Away,  His Huge

Tail Level Out Behind Him,  And Skookum,  Sure Of Success,  Raced

Up,  Within Six