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

Ticonderoga In Two Days,  And There Renewed Their Acquaintance

With General Hampton,  Who Was Fussing About,  And Digging Useless

Entrenchments As Though He Expected A Mighty Siege. Rolf Was

Called Before Him To Receive Other Despatches For Colonel Pike At

Plattsburg. He Got The Papers And Learned Their Destination,  Then

Immediately Made A Sad Mistake. " Excuse Me,  Sir," He Began,  "If

I Meet With -- "

"Young Man," Said The General,  Severely,  "I Don't Want Any Of

Your 'Ifs' Or 'Buts'; Your Orders Are 'Go.' 'How' And 'If' Are

Matters For You To Find Out; That's What You Are Paid For."

Rolf Bowed; His Cheeks Were Tingling. He Was Very Angry At What

He Thought A Most Uncalled For Rebuke,  But He Got Over It,  And He

Never Forgot The Lesson. It Was Si Sylvanne That Put It Into

Rememberable Form.

"A Fool Horse Kin Follow A Turnpike,  But It Takes A Man With Wits

To Climb,  Swim,  Boat,  Skate,  Run,  Hide,  Go It Blind,  Pick A Lock,

Take The Long Way,  Round,  When It's The Short Way Across,  Run

Away At The Right Time,  Or Fight When It's Wise -- All In One

Afternoon." Rolf Set Out For The North Carrying A Bombastic

(Meant To Be Reassuring) Message From Hampton That He Would

Annihilate Any Enemy Who Dared To Desecrate The Waters Of The Lake.

It Was On This Trip That Rolf Learned From Quonab The Details Of

The Latter's Visit To His People On The St. Regis. Apparently The

Joy Of Meeting A Few Of His Own Kin,  With Whom He Could Talk His

Own Language,  Was Offset By Meeting With A Large Number Of His

Ancient Enemies The Mohawks. There Had Been Much Discussion Of

The Possible War Between The British And The Yankees. The Mohawks

Announced Their Intention To Fight For The British,  Which Was A

Sufficient Reason For Quonab As A Sinawa Remaining With The

Americans; And When He Left The St. Regis Reserve The Indian Was

Without Any Desire To Reenter It.

At Plattsburg Rolf And Quonab Met With Another Albany

Acquaintance In General Wilkinson,  And From Him Received

Despatches Which They Brought Back To Albany,  Having Covered The

Whole Distance In Eight Days.

When 1812 Was Gone Rolf Had Done Little But Carry Despatches Up

And Down Lake Champlain. Next Season Found The Americans Still

Under Command Of Generals Wilkinson And Hampton,  Whose Utter

Incompetence Was Becoming Daily More Evident.

The Year 1813 Saw Rolf,  Eighteen Years Old And Six Feet One In

His Socks,  A Trained Scout And Despatch Bearer.

By A Flying Trip On Snowshoes In January He Took Letters,  From

General Hampton At Ticonderoga To Sackett's Harbour And Back In

Eight Days,  Nearly Three Hundred Miles. It Made Him Famous As A

Runner,  But The Tidings That He Brought Were Sad. Through Him

They Learned In Detail Of The Total Defeat And Capture Of The

American Army At Frenchtown. After A Brief Rest He Was Sent

Across Country On Snowshoes To Bear A Reassuring Message To

Ogdensburg. The Weather Was Much Colder Now,  And The Single

Blanket Bed Was Dangerously Slight; So "Flying Kittering," As

They Named Him,  Took A Toboggan And Secured Quonab As His Running

Mate. Skookum Was Given Into Safe Keeping. Blankets,  Pots,  Cups,

Food,  Guns,  And Despatches Were Strapped On The Toboggan,  And

They Sped Away At Dawn From Ticonderoga On The I8th Of February

1813,  Headed Northwestward,  Guided By Little But The Compass.

Thirty Miles That Day They Made In Spite Of Piercing Blasts And

Driving Snow. But With The Night There Began A Terrible Storm

With Winds Of Zero Chill. The Air Was Filled With Stinging,

Cutting Snow. When They Rose At Daylight They Were Nearly Buried

In Drifts,  Although Their Camp Was In A Dense,  Sheltered Thicket.

Guided Wholly By The Compass They Travelled Again,  But Blinded By

The Whirling White They Stumbled And Blundered Into Endless

Difficulties And Made But Poor Headway. After Dragging The

Toboggan For Three Hours,  Taking Turns At Breaking The Way,  They

Were Changing Places When Rolf Noticed A Large Gray Patch On

Quonab's Cheek And Nose.

"Quonab,  Your Face Is Frozen," He Said.

"So Is Yours," Was The Reply.

Now They Turned Aside,  Followed A Hollow Until They Reached A

Spruce Grove,  Where They Camped And Took An Observation,  To Learn

That The Compass And They Held Widely Different Views About The

Direction Of Travel. It Was Obviously Useless To Face The Storm.

They Rubbed Out Their Frozen Features With Dry Snow And Rested By

The Fire.

No Good Scout Seeks For Hardship; He Avoids The Unnecessary Trial

Of Strength And Saves Himself For The Unavoidable. With Zero

Weather About Them And Twenty-Four Hours To Wait In The Storm,

The Scouts Set About Making Themselves Thoroughly Comfortable.

With Their Snowshoes They Dug Away The Snow In A Circle A Dozen

Feet Across,  Piling It Up On The Outside So As To Make That As

High As Possible. When They Were

Down To The Ground,  The Wall Of Snow Around Them Was Five Feet

High. Now They Went Forth With The Hatchets,  Cut Many Small

Spruces,  And Piled Them Against The Living Spruces About The Camp

Till There Was A Dense Mass Of Evergreen Foliage Ten Feet High

Around Them,  Open Only At The Top,  Where Was A Space Five Feet

Across. With Abundance Of Dry Spruce Wood,  A Thick Bed Of Balsam

Boughs,  And Plenty Of Blankets They Were In What Most Woodmen

Consider Comfort Complete.

They Had Nothing To Do Now But Wait. Quonab Sat Placidly Smoking,

Rolf Was Sewing A Rent In His Coat,  The Storm Hissed,  And The

Wind-Driven Ice Needles Rattled Through The Trees To Vary The

Crackle Of The Fire With A "Siss" As They Fell On The Embers. The

Low Monotony Of Sound Was Lulling In Its Evenness,  When A Faint

Crunch Of A Foot On The Snow Was Heard. Rolf Reached For His Gun,

The Fir Tree Screen Was Shaken A Little,  And A Minute Later There

Bounded In Upon Them The Snow Covered Form Of Little Dog Skookum,

Expressing His Good-Will By Excessive Sign Talk In Which Every

Limb And Member Had A Part. They Had Left Him Behind,  Indeed,  But

Not With His Consent,  So The Bargain Was Incomplete.

There Was No Need To Ask Now,  What Shall We Do With Him? Skookum

Had Settled That,  And Why Or How He Never Attempted To Explain.

He Was Wise Who Made It Law That "As Was His Share Who Went Forth

To Battle,  So Shall His Be That Abode With The Stuff," For The

Hardest Of All Is The Waiting. In The Morning There Was Less

Doing In The Elemental Strife. There Were Even Occasional Periods

Of Calm And At Length It Grew So Light That Surely The Veil Was

Breaking.

Quonab Returned From A Brief Reconnoitre To Say,  " Ugh! -- Good

Going."

The Clouds Were Broken And Flying,  The Sun Came Out At Times,  But

The Wind Was High,  The Cold Intense,  And The Snow Still Drifting.

Poor Skookum Had It Harder Than The Men,  For They Wore Snowshoes;

But He Kept His Troubles To Himself And Bravely Trudged Along

Behind. Had He Been Capable Of Such Reflection He Might Have

Said,  "What Delightful Weather,  It Keeps The Fleas So Quiet."

That Day There Was Little To Note But The Intense Cold,  And Again

Both Men Had Their Cheeks Frost-Bitten On The North Side. A Nook

Under An Overhanging Rock Gave A Good Camp That Night. Next Day

The Bad Weather Resumed,  But,  Anxious To Push On They Faced It,

Guided Chiefly By The Wind. It Was Northwest,  And As Long As They

Felt This Fierce,  Burning Cold Mercilessly Gnawing On Their

Hapless Tender Right Cheek Bones,  They Knew They Were Keeping

Their Proper Main Course.

They Were Glad Indeed To Rest At Dusk And Thaw Their Frozen

Faces. Next Day At Dawn They Were Off; At First It Was Calm,  But

The Surging Of The Snow Waves Soon Began Again,  And The Air Was

Filled With The Spray Of Their Lashing Till It Was Hard To See

Fifty Yards In Any Direction. They Were Making Very Bad Time. The

Fourth Day Should Have Brought Them To Ogdensburg,  But They Were

Still Far Off; How Far They Could Only Guess,  For They Had Not

Come Across A House Or A Settler.

The Same Blizzard Was Raging On The Next Day When Skookum Gave

Unequivocal Sign Talk That He Smelled Something.

It Is Always Well To Find Out What Stirs Your Dog. Quonab Looked

Hard At Skookum. That Sagacious Mongrel Was Sniffing Vigorously,

Up In The Air,  Not On The Ground; His Mane Was Not Bristling,  And

The Patch Of Dark Hair That Every Gray Or Yellow Dog Has At The

Base Of His Tail,  Was Not Lifted.

"He Smells Smoke," Was The Indian's Quick Diagnosis. Rolf Pointed

Up The Wind And Made The Sign-Talk Query. Quonab Nodded.

It Was Their Obvious Duty To Find Out Who Was Their Smoky

Neighbour. They Were Now Not So Far From The St. Lawrence; There

Was A Small Chance Of The Smoke Being From A Party Of The Enemy;

There Was A Large Chance Of It Being From Friends; And The

Largest Chance Was That It Came From Some Settler's Cabin Where

They Could Get Necessary Guidance.

They Turned Aside. The Wind Now,  Instead Of On The Right Cheek,

Was Square In Their Faces. Rolf Went Forward Increasing His Pace

Till He Was As Far Ahead As Was Possible Without Being Out Of

Sight. After A Mile Their Way Led Downward,  The Timber Was

Thicker,  The Wind Less,  And The Air No More Befogged With Flying

Snow. Rolf Came To A Long,  Deep Trench That Wound Among The

Trees; The Snow At The Bottom Of It Was Very Hard. This Was What

He Expected; The Trail Muffled Under New,  Soft Snow,  But Still A

Fresh Trail And Leading To The Camp That Skookum Had Winded.

He Turned And Made The Sign For Them To Halt And Wait. Then

Strode Cautiously Along The Winding Guide Line.

In Twenty Minutes The Indications Of A Settlement Increased,  And

The Scout At Length Was Peering From The Woods Across The Open

Down To A Broad Stream On Whose Bank Was A Saw Mill,  With The

Usual Wilderness Of Ramshackle Shanties,  Sheds,  And Lumber Piles

About.

There Was No Work Going On,  Which Was A Puzzle Till Rolf

Remembered It Was Sunday. He Went Boldly Up And Asked For The

Boss. His Whole Appearance Was That Of A Hunter And As Such The

Boss Received Him.

He Was Coming Through From The Other Side And Had Missed His Way

In The Storm,  He Explained.

"What Are Ye By Trade?"

"A Trapper."

"Where Are Ye Bound Now?"

"Well,  I'll Head For The Nearest Big Settlement,  Whatever That

Is."

"It's Just Above An Even Thing Between Alexandria Bay And

Ogdensburg."

So Rolf Inquired Fully About The Trail To Alexandria Bay That He

Did Not Want To Go To. Why Should He Be So Careful? The Mill

Owner Was Clearly A Good American,  But The Scout Had No Right To

Let Any Outsider Know His Business. This Mill Owner Might Be

Safe,  But He Might Be Unwise And Blab To Some One Who Was Not All

Right.

Then In A Casual Way He Learned That This Was The Oswegatchie

River And Thirty Miles Down He Would Find The Town Of Ogdensburg.

No Great Recent Events Did He Hear Of,  But Evidently The British

Troops Across The River Were Only Awaiting The Springtime Before

Taking Offensive Measures.

For The Looks Of It,  Rolf Bought Some Tea And Pork,  But The

Hospitable Mill Man Refused To Take Payment And,  Leaving In The

Direction Of Alexandria Bay,  Rolf Presently Circled Back And

Rejoined His Friends In The Woods.

A Long Detour Took Them Past The Mill. It Was Too Cold For

Outdoor Idling. Every Window Was Curtained With Frost,  And Not A

Soul Saw Them As They Tramped Along Past The Place And Down To

Continue On The Ice Of The Oswegatchie.

Pounded By The Ceaseless Wind,  The Snow On The Ice Was Harder,

Travel Was Easier,  And The Same Tireless Blizzard Wiped Out The

Trail As Soon As It Was Behind Them.

Crooked Is The River Trail,  But Good