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

Was Two Fingers Wider On Every Side,  And A Hand-Breadth Longer

Than Quonab's; Be- Sides The Right Frame Had Been Broken And The

Binding Of Rawhide Was Faintly Seen In The Snow Mark.  It Was A

Mark They Had Seen All Winter,  And Now It Was Headed As Before

For The West.

When Night Came Down,  They Camped In A Hollow.  They Were Used To

Snow Camps.  In The Morning They Went On,  But Wind And Snow Had

Hidden Their Tell-Tale Guide.

What Was The Next Move?  Rolf Did Not Ask,  But  Wondered.

Quonab Evidently Was Puzzled.

At Length Rolf Ventured: "He Surely Lives By Some River -- That

Way -- And Within A Day's Journey.  This Track Is Gone,  But We

May Strike A Fresh One.  We'll Know It When We See It."

The Friendly Look Came Back To The Indian's Face.  "You Are

Nibowaka."

They Had Not Gone Half A Mile Before They Found A Fresh Track --

Their Old Acquaintance.  Even Skookum Showed His Hostile

Recognition.  And In A Few Minutes It Led Them To A Shanty.  They

Slipped Off Their Snowshoes,  And Hung Them In A Tree.  Quonab

Opened The Door Without Knocking.   They Entered,  And In A Moment

Were Face To Face With A Lanky,  Ill-Favoured White Man That All

Three,  Including  Skookum,  Recognized As Hoag,  The Man They Had

Met At The Trader's.

That Worthy Made A Quick Reach For His Rifle,  But Quonab Covered

Him And Said In Tones That Brooked No Discussion,  "Sit Down!"

Hoag Did So,  Sullenly,  Then Growled: "All Right; My Partners Will

Be Here In Ten Minutes."

Rolf Was Startled.  Quonab And Skookum Were Not.

"We Settled Your Partners Up In The Hills," Said The Former,

Knowing That One Bluff Was As Good As Another. Skookum Growled

And Sniffed At The Enemy's Legs.  The Prisoner Made A Quick Move

With His Foot.

"You Kick That Dog Again And It's Your Last Kick," Said The Indian.

"Who's Kicked Yer Dog,  And What Do You Mean Coming Here With Yer

Cutthroat Ways?  You'll Find There's Law In This Country Before

Yer Through," Was The Answer.

"That's What We're Looking For,  You Trap Robber,  You Thief.

We're Here First To Find Our Traps; Second To Tell You This: The

Next Time You Come On Our Line There'll Be Meat For The Ravens.

Do You Suppose I Don't Know Them? And The Indian Pointed To A

Large Pair Of Snowshoes With Long Heels And A Repair Lashing On

The Right Frame.  "See That Blue Yarn," And The Indian Matched It

With A Blue Sash Hanging To A Peg.

"Yes,  Them Belongs To Bill Hawkins; He'll Be 'Round In Five

Minutes Now."

The Indian Made A Gesture Of Scorn; Then Turning To Rolf Said:

"Look 'Round For Our Traps." Rolf Made A Thorough Search In And

About The Shanty And The Adjoining Shed. He Found Some Traps But

None With His Mark; None Of A Familiar Make Even.

"Better Hunt For A Squaw And Papoose," Sneered Hoag,  Who Was

Utterly Puzzled By The Fact That Now Rolf Was Obviously A White

Lad.

But All The Search Was Vain.  Either Hoag Had Not Stolen The

Traps Or Had Hidden Them Elsewhere.  The Only Large Traps They

Found Were Two Of The Largest Size For Taking Bear.

Hoag's Torrent Of Bad Language Had Been Quickly Checked By The

Threat Of Turning Skookum Loose On His Legs,  And He Looked Such A

Grovelling Beast That Presently The Visitors Decided To Leave Him

With A Warning.

The Indian Took The Trapper's Gun,  Fired It Off Out Of Doors,  Not

In The Least Perturbed By The Possibility Of Its Being Heard By

Hoag's Partners.  He Knew They Were Imaginary.   Then Changing

His Plan,  He Said "Ugh! You Find Your Gun In Half A Mile On Our

Trail.  But Don't Come Farther And Don't Let Me See The Snowshoe

Trail On The Divide Again. Them Ravens Is Awful Hungry."

Skookum,  To His Disappointment,  Was Called Off And,  Talking The

Trapper's Gun For A Time,  They Left It In A Bush And Made For

Their Own Country.

"Why Are There So Few Deer Tracks Now?"

"Deer Yarded For Winter," Replied The Indian; No Travel In Deep Snow."

"We'll Soon Need Another," Said Rolf,  Which Unfortunately  Was

True.  They Could Have Killed Many Deer In Early Winter,  When The

Venison Was In Fine Condition,  But They Had No Place To Store It.

Now They Must Get It As They Could,  And Of Course It Was Thinner

And Poorer Every Week.

They Were On A High Hill Some Days Later.  There Was A Clear View

And They Noticed Several Ravens Circling And Swooping.

"Maybe Dead Deer; Maybe Deer Yard," Said The Indian.

It Was Over A Thick,  Sheltered,  And Extensive Cedar Swamp Near

The Woods Where Last Year They Had Seen So Many Deer,  And They

Were Not Surprised To Find Deer Tracks In Numbers,  As Soon As

They Got Into Its Dense Thicket.

A Deer Yard Is Commonly Supposed To Be A Place In Which The Deer

Have A Daily "Bee" At Road Work All Winter Long And Deliberately

Keep The Snow Hammered Down So They Can Run On A Hard Surface

Everywhere Within Its Limits.  The Fact Is,  The Deer Gather In A

Place Where There Is Plenty Of Food And Good Shelter.  The Snow

Does Not Drift Here,  So The Deer,  By Continually Moving About,

Soon Make A Network Of Tracks In All Directions,  Extending Them

As They Must To Seek More Food.  They May,  Of Course,  Leave The

Yard At Any Time,  But At Once They Encounter The Dreaded Obstacle

Of Deep,  Soft Snow In Which They Are Helpless.

Once They Reached The Well-Worn Trails,  The Hunters Took Off

Their Snowshoes And Went Gently On These Deer Paths. They Saw One

Or Two Disappearing Forms,  Which Taught Them The Thick Cover Was

Hiding Many More.  They Made For The Sound Of The Ravens,  And

Found That The Feast Of The Sable Birds Was Not A Deer But The

Bodies Of Three,  Quite Recently Killed.

Quonab Made A Hasty Study Of The Signs And Said,  "Panther."

Yes,  A Panther,  Cougar,  Or Mountain Lion Also Had Found The Deer

Yard; And Here He Was Living,  Like A Rat In A Grocer Shop With

Nothing To Do But Help Himself Whenever He Felt Like Feasting.

Pleasant For The Panther,  But Hard On The Deer; For The Killer Is

Wasteful And Will Often Kill For The Joy Of Murder.

Not A Quarter Of The Carcasses Lying Here Did He Eat; He Was

Feeding At Least A Score Of Ravens,  And Maybe Foxes,  Martens,  And

Lynxes As Well.

Before Killing A Deer,  Quonab Thought It Well To Take A Quiet

Prowl Around In Hopes Of Seeing The Panther.  Skookum Was Turned

Loose And Encouraged To Display His Talents.

Proud As A General With An Ample And Obedient Following,  He

Dashed Ahead,  Carrying Fresh Dismay Among The Deer,  If One Might

Judge From The Noise.  Then He Found Some New Smell Of

Excitement,  And Voiced The New Thrill In A New Sound,  One Not

Unmixed With Fear.  At Length His Barking Was Far Away To The

West In A Rocky Part Of The Woods.  Whatever The Prey,  It Was

Treed,  For The Voice Kept One Place.

The Hunters Followed Quickly And Found The Dog Yapping  Furiously

Under A Thick Cedar.  The First Thought Was Of Porcupine; But A

Nearer View Showed The Game To Be A Huge Panther On The Ground,

Not Greatly Excited,   Disdaining To Climb,  And Taking Little

Notice Of The Dog,   Except To Curl His Nose And Utter A Hissing

Kind Of Snarl When The Latter Came Too Near.

But The Arrival Of The Hunters Gave A New Colour To The Picture.

The Panther Raised His Head,  Then Sprang Up A Large Tree And

Ensconced Himself On A Fork,  While The Valorous  Skookum Reared

Against The Trunk,  Threatening Loudly To Come Up And Tear Him To

Pieces.

This Was A Rare Find And A Noble Chance To Conserve Their Stock

Of Deer,  So The Hunters Went Around The Tree Seeking For A Fair

Shot.  But Every Point Of View Had Some Serious Obstacle.  It

Seemed As Though The Branches Had Been Told Off To Guard The

Panther's Vitals,  For A Big One Always Stood In The Bullet's Way.

After Vainly Going Around,  Quonab Said To Rolf: "Hit Him With

Something,  So He'll Move."

Rolf Always Was A Good Shot With Stones,  But He Found None To

Throw.  Near Where They Stood,  However,  Was An Unfreezing Spring,

And The Soggy Snow On It Was Easily Packed Into A Hard,  Heavy

Snowball.  Rolf Threw It Straight,  Swift,  And By Good Luck It Hit

The Panther Square On The Nose And Startled Him So That He Sprang

Right Out Of The Tree And Flopped Into The Snow.

Skookum Was On Him At Once,  But Got A Slap On The Ear That

Changed His Music,  And The Panther Bounded Away Out Of Sight With

The Valiant Skookum Ten Feet Behind,  Whooping And Yelling Like

Mad.

It Was Annoyance Rather Than Fear That Made That  Panther Take To

A Low Tree While Skookum Boxed The Compass,  And Made A Beaten Dog

Path All Around Him.  The Hunters Approached Very Carefully Now,

Making Little Sound And Keeping Out Of Sight.  The Panther Was

Wholly Engrossed With Observing The Astonishing Impudence Of That

Dog,  When Quonab Came Quietly Up,  Leaned His Rifle Against A Tree

And Fired.  The Smoke Cleared To Show The Panther On His Back,

His Legs Convulsively Waving In The Air,  And Skookum Tugging

Valiantly At His Tail.

"My Panther," He Seemed To Say; "Whatever Would You Do Without Me?"

A Panther In A Deer Yard Is Much Like A Wolf Shut Up In A

Sheepfold.  He Would Probably Have Killed All The Deer That

Winter,  Though There Were Ten Times As Many As He Needed For

Food; And Getting Rid Of Him Was A Piece Of Good Luck For Hunters

And Deer,  While His Superb Hide Made A Noble Trophy That In Years

To Come Had Unexpected Places Of Honour.

Rolf Still Kept To The Tradition Of Sunday,  And Quonab Had In A

Manner Accepted It.  It Was A Curious Fact That The Red Man Had

Far More Toleration For The White Man's Religious Ideas Than The

White Man Had For The Red's.

Quonab's Songs To The Sun And The Spirit,  Or His Burning Of A

Tobacco Pinch,  Or An Animal's Whiskers Were To Rolf But Harmless

Nonsense.  Had He Given Them Other Names,  Calling Them Hymns And

Incense,  He Would Have Been Much Nearer Respecting Them.  He Had

Forgotten His Mother's Teaching: "If Any Man Do Anything

Sincerely,  Believing That Thereby He Is Worshipping God,  He Is

Worshipping God." He Disliked Seeing Quonab Use An Axe Or A Gun

On Sunday,  And The Indian,  Realizing That Such Action Made "Evil

Medicine"  For Rolf,  Practically Abstained.  But Rolf Had Not Yet

Learned To Respect The Red Yarns The Indian Hung From A Deer's

Skull,  Though He Did Come To Understand That He Must Let Them

Alone Or Produce Bad Feeling In Camp.

Sunday Had Become A Day Of Rest And Quonab Made It Also A Day Of

Song And Remembrance.

They Were Sitting One Sunday Night By The Fire In The Cabin,

Enjoying The Blaze,  While A Storm Rattled On The Window And Door.

A White-Footed Mouse,  One Of A Family That Lived In The Shanty,

Was Trying