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

Winter Sought Work On The Log Drives In Spring; Some Who Had

Families And A Permanent Home Set About Planting Potatoes And

Plying The Fish Nets. Rolf And Quonab Having Neither Way Open,

Yet Feeling The Impulse,  Decided To Go Out To Warren's With The Fur.

Quonab Wanted Tobacco -- And A Change.

Rolf Wanted A Rifle,  And To See The Van Trumpers -- And A Change.

So June Ist Saw Them All Aboard,  With Quonab Steering At The

Stern,  And Skookum Bow-Wowing At The Bow,  Bound For The Great

Centre Of Warren's Settlement -- One Store And Three Houses,  Very

Wide Apart.

There Was A Noble Flush Of Water In The Streams,  And,  Thanks To

Their Axe Work In September,  They Passed Down Jesup's River

Without A Pause,  And Camped On The Hudson That Night,  Fully

Twenty-Five Miles From Home.

Long,  Stringing Flocks Of Pigeons Going North Were The Most

Numerous Forms Of Life. But A Porcupine On The Bank And A Bear In

The Water Aroused Skookum To A Pitch Of Frightful Enthusiasm And

Vaulting Ambition That He Was Forced To Restrain.

On The Evening Of The Third Day They Landed At Warren's And Found

A Hearty Welcome From The Trader,  Who Left A Group Of Loafers And

Came Forward:

"Good Day To Ye,  Boy. My,  How Ye Have Growed."

So He Had. Neither Rolf Nor Quonab Had Remarked It,  But Now They

Were Much Of The Same Height. "Wall,  An' How'd Ye Make Out With

Yer Hunt? -- Ah,  That's Fine!" As Each Of Them Dropped A Fur Pack

On The Counter. "Wall,  This Is Fine; We Must Have A Drink On The

Head Of It," And The Trader Was Somewhat Nonplussed When Both The

Trappers Refused. He Was Disappointed,  Too,  For That Refusal

Meant That They Would Get Much Better Prices For Their Fun But He

Concealed His Chagrin And Rattled On: "I Reckon I'll Sell You The

Finest Rifle In The Country This Time,  "And He Knew By Rolf's

Face That There Was Business To Do In That Line.

Now Came The Listing Of The Fur,  And Naturally The Bargaining Was

Between The Shrewd Yankee Boy And The Trader. The Indian Stood

Shyly Aside,  But He Did Not Fail To Help With Significant Grunts

And Glances.

"There,  Now," Said Warren,  As The Row Of Martens Were Laid Out

Side By Side,  " Thirty Martens -- A Leetle Pale  -- Worth Three

Dollars And Fifty Cents Each,  Or,  To Be Generous,  We'll Say Four

Dollars." Rolf Glanced At Quonab,  Who,  Unseen By The Trader Shook

His Head,  Held His Right Hand Out,  Open Hollow Up,  Then Raised It

With A Jerk For Two Inches.

Quickly Rolf Caught The Idea And Said; "No,  I Don't Reckon Them

Pale. I Call Them Prime Dark,  Every One Of Them." Quonab Spread

His Hand With All Five Fingers Pointed Up,  And Rolf Continued,

"They Are Worth Five Dollars Each,  If They're Worth A Copper."

"Phew!" Said The Trader. "You Forget Fur Is An Awful Risky Thing;

What With Mildew,  Moth,  Mice,  And Markets,  We Have A Lot Of Risk.

But I Want To Please You,  So Let Her Go; Five Each. There's A

Fine Black Fox; That's Worth Forty Dollars."

"I Should Think It Is," Said Rolf,  As Quonab,  By Throwing To His

Right An Imaginary Pinch Of Sand,  Made The Sign "Refuse."

They Had Talked Over The Value Of That Fox Skin And Rolf Said,

"Why,  I Know Of A Black Fox That Sold For Two Hundred Dollars."

"Where?"

"Oh,  Down At Stamford."

"Why,  That's Near New York."

"Of Course; Don't You Send Your Fur To New York?"

"Yes,  But It Costs A Lot To Get It There.

"Now," Said Warren,  "If You'll Take It In Trade,  I'll Meet You

Half-Way And Call It One Hundred Dollars."

"Make It One Hundred And Twenty-Five Dollars And I'll Take A

Rifle,  Anyway."

"Phew!" Whistled The Trader. "Where Do Ye Get Such Notions? "

"Nothing Wrong About The Notion; Old Si Sylvanne Offered Me

Pretty Near That,  If I'd Come Out His Way With The Stuff."

This Had The Desired Effect Of Showing That There Were Other

Traders. At Last The Deal Was Closed. Besides The Fox Skin,  They

Had Three Hundred Dollars' Worth Of Fur. The Exchange For The Fox

Skin Was Enough To Buy All The Groceries And Dry Goods They

Needed. But Rolf Had Something Else In Mind.

He Had Picked Out Some Packages Of Candies,  Some Calico Prints

And Certain Bright Ribbons,  When The Trader Grasped The Idea. "I

See; Yer Goin' Visitin'. Who Is It? Must Be The Van Trumpers! "

Rolf Nodded And Now He Got Some Very Intelligent Guidance. He Did

Not Buy Annette's Dress,  Because Part Of Her Joy Was To Be The

Expedition In Person To Pick It Out; But He Stocked Up With Some

Gorgeous Pieces Of Jewellery That Were Ten Cents Each,  And

Ribbons Whose Colours Were As Far Beyond Expression As Were The

Joys They Could Create In The Backwoods Female Heart.

Proudly Clutching His New Rlile,  And Carrying In His Wallet A

Memorandum Of Three Hundred Dollars For Their Joint Credit,  Rolf

Felt Himself A Person Of No Little Impor- Tance. As He Was

Stepping Out Of The Store,  The Trader Said,  "Ye Didn't Run Across

Jack Hoag Agin,  Did Ye?"

"Did We? Hmph!" And Rolf Told Briefly Of Their Experience With

That Creature.

"Just Like Him,  Just Like Him; Served Him Right; He Was A Dirty

Cuss. But,  Say; Don't You Be Led Into Taking Your Fur Out Lyons

Falls Way. They're A Mean Lot In There,  And It Stands To Reason I

Can Give You Better Prices,  Being A Hundred Miles Nearer New

York."

And That Lesson Was Not Forgotten. The Nearer New York The Better

The Price; Seventy-Five Dollars At Lyons Falls; One Hundred And

Twenty-Five Dollars At Warren's; Two Hundred Dollars At New York.

Rolf Pondered Long And The Idea Was One Which Grew And Bore

Fruit.

Nibowaka" -- Quonab Always Said "Nibowaka" When He Was Impressed

With Rolf's Astuteness -- "What About The Canoe And Stuff?"

"I Think We Better Leave All Here. Callan Will Lend Us A Canoe."

So They Shouldered The Guns,  Rolf Clung To His,  And Tramped

Across The Portage,  Reaching Callan's In Less Than Two Hours.

"Why,  Certainly You Can Have The Canoe,  But Come In And Eat

First," Was The Kindly Backwoods Greeting. However,  Rolf Was Keen

To Push On; They Launched The Canoe At Once And Speedily Were

Flashing Their Paddles On The Lake.

The Place Looked Sweetly Familiar As They Drew Near. The Crops In

The Fields Were Fair; The Crop Of Chickens At The Barn Was Good;

And The Crop Of Children About The Door Was Excellent.

"Mein Hemel! Mein Hemel! " Shouted Fat Old Hendrik,  As They

Walked Up To The Stable Door. In A Minute He Was Wringing Their

Hands And Smiling Into Great Red,  White,  And Blue Smiles. "Coom

In,  Coom In,  Lad. Hi,  Marta,  Here Be Rolf And Quonab. Mein Hemel!

Mein Hemel! What Am I Now So Happy."

"Where's Annette?" Asked Rolf.

"Ach,  Poor Annette,  She Fever Have A Little; Not Mooch,  Some,"

And He Led Over To A Corner Where On A Low Cot Lay Annette,  Thin,

Pale,  And Listless.

She Smiled Faintly,  In Response,  When Rolf Stooped And Kissed Her.

"Why,  Annette,  I Came Back To See You. I Want To Take You Over To

Warren's Store,  So You Can Pick Out That Dress. See,  I Brought

You My First Marten And I Made This Box For You; You Must Thank

Skookum For The Quills On It."

"Poor Chile; She Bin Sick All Spring," And Marta Used A Bunch Of

Sedge To Drive Away The Flies And Mosquitoes That,  Bass And

Treble,  Hovered Around The Child.

"What Ails Her?" Asked Rolf Anxiously.

"Dot Ve Do Not Know," Was The Reply.

"Maybe There's Some One Here Can Tell," And Roll Glanced At The Indian.

"Ach,  Sure! Have I You That Not Always Told All-Vays -- Eet Is So.

All-Vays,  I Want Sumpin Bad Mooch. I Prays De Good Lord And All-Vays,

All-Vays,  Two Times Now,  He It Send By Next Boat. Ach,  How I Am Spoil,"

And The Good Dutchman's Eyes Filled With Tears Of Thankfulness.

Quonab Knelt By The Sufferer. He Felt Her Hot,  Dry Hand; He

Noticed Her Short,  Quick Breathing,  Her Bright Eyes,  And The

Untouched Bowl Of Mush By Her Bed.

"Swamp Fever," He Said. "I Bring Good Medicine." He Passed

Quietly Out Into The Woods. When He Returned,  He Carried A Bundle

Of Snake-Root Which He Made Into Tea.

Annette Did Not Wish To Touch It,  But Her Mother Persuaded Her To

Take A Few Sips From A Cup Held By Rolf.

"Wah! This Not Good," And Quonab Glanced About The Close,

Fly-Infested Room. "I Must Make Lodge." He Turned Up The Cover Of

The Bedding; Three Or Four Large,  Fiat Brown Things Moved Slowly

Out Of The Light. "Yes,  I Make Lodge."

It Was Night Now,  And All Retired; The Newcomers To The Barn.

They Had Scarcely Entered,  When A Screaming Of Poultry Gave A

Familiar Turn To Affairs. On Running To The Spot,  It Proved Not A

Mink Or Coon,  But Skookum,  Up To His Old Tricks. On The Appearance

Of His Masters,  He Fled With Guilty Haste,  Crouched Beneath The Post

That He Used To Be,  And Soon Again Was,  Chained To.

In The Morning Quonab Set About His Lodge,  And Rolf Said: "I've

Got To Go To Warren's For Sugar." The Sugar Was Part Truth And

Part Blind. As Soon As He Heard The Name Swamp Fever,  Rolf

Remembered That,  In Redding,  Jesuit's Bark (Known Later As

Quinine) Was The Sovereign Remedy. He Had Seen His Mother

Administer It Many Times,  And,  So Far As He Knew,  With Uniform

Success. Every Frontier (Or Backwoods,  It's The Same) Trader

Carries A Stock Of Medicine,  And In Two Hours Rolf Left Warren's

Counter With Twenty-Five Pounds Of Maple Sugar And A Bottle Of

Quinine Extract In His Pack.

"You Say She's Bothered With The Flies; Why Don't You Take Some

Of This New Stuff For A Curtain? " And The Trader Held Up A Web

Of Mosquito Gauze,  The First Rolf Had Seen. That Surely Was A

Good Idea,  And Ten Yards Snipped Off Was A Most Interesting

Addition To His Pack. The Amount Was Charged Against Him,  And In

Two Hours More He Was Back At Van Trumper's.

On The Cool Side Of The House,  Quonab Had Built A Little Lodge,

Using A Sheet For Cover. On A Low Bed Of Pine Boughs Lay The

Child. Near The Door Was A Smouldering Fire Of Cedar,  Whose

Aromatic Fumes On The Lazy Wind Reached Every Cranny Of The Lodge.

Sitting By The Bed Head,  With A Chicken Wing To Keep Off The Few

Mosquitoes,  Was The Indian. The Child's Eyes Were Closed; She Was

Sleeping Peacefully. Rolf Crept Gently Forward,  Laid His Hand On

Hers,  It Was Cool And Moist. He Went Into The House With His

Purchases; The Mother Greeted Him With A Happy Look: Yes,  Annette

Was A Little Better; She Had Slept Quietly Ever Since She Was

Taken Outdoors. The Mother Could Not Understand. Why Should The

Indian Want To Have Her Surrounded By Pine Boughs? Why

Cedar-Smoke? And Why That Queer Song? Yes,  There It Was Again.

Rolf Went Out To See And Hear. Softly Summing On A Tin Pan,  With

A Mudded Stick,  The Indian Sang A Song. The Words Which Rolf

Learned In The After- Time Were:

"Come,  Kaluskap,  Drive The Witches; Those Who Came To Harm The

Dear One."

Annette Moved Not,  But Softly Breathed,  As She Slept A Sweet,

Restful Slumber,  The First For Many Days.

"Vouldn't She Be Better In De House?" Whispered The Anxious Mother.

"No,  Let Quonab Do His Own Way," And Rolf Wondered If Any White

Man Had Sat By Little Wee-Wees To Brush Away The Flies From His

Last Bed.