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

Thrill Of Unnervement.

Sunk Down Nearly Out Of Sight,  The Indian Slowly Reached The

Reeds.  Here He Found Bottom,  And Pausing,  He Took The Rope In

One Hand,  The Tomahawk In The Other,  And Dived,  And When He

Reappeared He Was Within Ten Yards Of The Enemy,  And In Water But

Four Feet Deep.

With A Sudden Rush The Reptile Splashed Into The Pond And Out Of

Sight,  Avoiding The Rope Noose.  But Quonab Clutched Deep In The

Water As It Passed,  And Seized The Monster's Rugged Tail.  Then

It Showed Its Strength.  In A Twinkling That Mighty Tail Was

Swung Sidewise,  Crushing The Hand With Terrible Force Against The

Sharp-Edged Points Of The Back Armour.  It Took All The Indian's

Grit To Hold On To That Knife-Edged War Club.  He Dropped His

Tomahawk,  Then With His Other Hand Swung The Rope To Catch The

Turtle's Head,  But It Lurched So Quickly That The Rope Missed

Again,  Slipped Over The Shell,  And,  As They Struggled,  Encircled

One Huge Paw.  The Indian Jerked It Tight,  And They Were Bound

Together.  But Now His Only Weapon Was Down At The Bottom And The

Water All Muddied.  He Could Not See,  But Plunged To Grope For

The Tomahawk. The Snapper Gave A Great Lurch To Escape,  Releasing

The Injured Hand,  But Jerking The Man Off His Legs.  Then,

Finding Itself Held By A Forepaw,  It Turned With Gaping,  Hissing

Jaws,  And Sprang On The Foe That Struggled In Bottom Of The

Water.

The Snapper Has The Bulldog Habit To Seize And Hold Till The

Piece Tears Out.  In The Muddy Water It Had To Seize In The Dark,

And Fending First The Left Arm Of Its Foe,  Fastened On With

Fierce Beak And Desperate Strength.  At This Moment Quonab

Recovered His Tomahawk; Rising Into The Air He Dragged Up The

Hanging Snapper,  And Swung The Weapon With All The Force Of His

Free Arm.  The Blow Sank Through The Monster's Shell,  Deep Into

Its Back,  Without Any Visible Effect,  Except To Rob The Indian Of

His Weapon As He Could Not Draw It Out.

Then Rolf Rushed Into The Water To Help.  But Quonab Gasped,  "No,

No,  Go Back -- I'm Alone."

The Creature's Jaws Were Locked On His Arm,  But Its Front Claws,

Tearing Downward And Outward,  Were Demolishing The Coat That Had

Protected It,  And Long Lines Of Mingled Blood Were Floating On

The Waves.

After A Desperate Plunge Toward Shallow Water,  Quonab Gave

Another Wrench To The Tomahawk - It Moved,  Loosed; Another,  And

It Was Free.  Then "Chop,  Chop,  Chop," And That Long,  Serpentine

Neck Was Severed; The Body,  Waving Its Great Scaly Legs And

Lashing Its Alligator Tail,  Went Swimming Downward,  But The Huge

Head,  Blinking Its Bleary,  Red Eyes And Streaming With Blood,  Was

Clinched On His Arm.  The Indian Made For The Bank Hauling The

Rope That Held The Living Body,  And Fastened It To A Tree,  Then

Drew His Knife To Cut The Jaw Muscles Of The Head That Ground Its

Beak Into His Flesh.  But The Muscles Were Protected By Armour

Plates And Bone; He Could Not Deal A Stab To End Their Power.  In

Vain He Fumbled And Slashed,  Until In A Spasmodic Quiver The Jaws

Gaped Wide And The Bloody Head Fell To The Ground.  Again It

Snapped,  But A Tree Branch Bore The Brunt; On This The Strong

Jaws Clinched,  And So Remained.

For Over An Hour The Headless Body Crawled,  Or Tried To Crawl,

Always Toward The Lake.  And Now They Could Look At The Enemy.

Not His Size So Much As His Weight Surprised Them.  Although

Barely Four Feet Long,  He Was So Heavy That Rolf Could Not Lift

Him.  Quonab's Scratches Were Many But Slight; Only The Deep Bill

Wound Made His Arm And The Bruises Of The Jaws Were At All

Serious And Of These He Made Light.  Headed By Skookum In Full

'Yap,' They Carried The Victim's Body To Camp; The Head,  Still

Dutching The Stick,  Was Decorated With Three Feathers,  Then Set

On A Pole Near The Wigwam.  And The Burden Of The Red Man's Song

When Next He Sang Was:

"Bosikado,  Mine Enemy Was Mighty,  But I Went Into His Country And

Made Him Afraid!"

Summer Was At Its Height On The Asamuk.  The Woodthrush Was

Nearing The End Of Its Song; A Vast Concourse Of Young Robins In

Their Speckled Plumage Joined Chattering Every Night In The

Thickest Cedars; And One Or Two Broods Of Young Ducks Were Seen

On The Pipestave Pond.

Rolf Had Grown Wonderfully Well Into His Wigwam Life. He Knew Now

Exactly How To Set The Flap So As To Draw Out All The Smoke,  No

Matter Which Way The Wind Blew; He Had Learned The Sunset Signs,

Which Tell What Change Of Wind The Night Might Bring.  He Knew

Without Going To The Shore Whether The Tide Was A Little Ebb,

With Poor Chances,  Or A Mighty Outflow That Would Expose The

Fattest Oyster Beds.  His Practiced Fingers Told At A Touch

Whether It Was A Turtle Or A Big Fish On His Night Line; And By

The Tone Of The Tom-Tom He Knew When A Rainstorm Was At Hand.

Being Trained In Industry,  He Had Made Many Improvements In Their

Camp,  Not The Least Of Which Was To Clean Up And Burn All The

Rubbish And Garbage That Attracted Hordes Of Flies.  He Had

Fitted Into The Camp Partly By Changing It To Fit Himself,  And He

No Longer Felt That His Stay There Was A Temporary Shift.  When

It Was To End,  He Neither Knew Nor Cared.  He Realized Only That

He Was Enjoying Life As He Never Had Done Before.  His Canoe Had

Passed A Lot Of Rapids And Was Now In A Steady,  Unbroken Stream

-- But It Was The Swift Shoot Before The Fall. A Lull In The

Clamour Does Not Mean The End Of War,  But A New Onset Preparing;

And,  Of Course,  It Came In The Way Least Looked For.

Selectman Horton Stood Well With The Community; He Was A Man Of

Good Judgment,  Good Position,  And Kind Heart.  He Was Owner Of

All The Woods Along The Asamuk,  And Thus The Indian's Landlord On

The Indian's Ancestral Land.  Both Rolf And Quonab Had Worked For

Horton,  And So They Knew Him Well,  And Liked Him For His

Goodness.

It Was Wednesday Morning,  Late In July,  When Selectman Horton,

Clean-Shaven And Large,  Appeared At The Wigwam Under The Rock.

"Good Morrow To Ye Both!" Then Without Wasting Time He Plunged

In.  "There's Been Some Controversy And Much Criticism Of The

Selectmen For Allowing A White Lad,  The Child Of Christian

Parents,  The Grandson Of A Clergyman,  To Leave All Christian Folk

And Folds,  And Herd With A Pagan,  To Become,  As It Were,  A Mere

Barbarian.  I Hold Not,  Indeed,  With Those That Out Of Hand Would

Condemn As Godless A Good Fellow Like Quonab,  Who,  In My Certain

Knowledge And According To His Poor Light,  Doth Indeed Maintain

In Some Kind A Daily Worship Of A Sort.  Nevertheless,  The

Selectmen,  The Magistrates,  The Clergy,  The People Generally,  And

Above All The Missionary Society,  Are Deeply Moved In The Matter.

It Hath Even Been Made A Personal Charge Against Myself,  And With

Much Bitterness I Am Held Up As Unzealous For Allowing Such A

Nefarious Stronghold Of Satan To Continue On Mine Own Demesne,

And Harbour One,  Escaped,  As It Were,  From Grace.  Acting,

Therefore,  Not According To My Heart,  But As Spokesman Of The

Town Council,  The Synod Of Elders,  And The Society For The

Promulgation Of Godliness Among The Heathen,  I Am To State That

You,  Rolf Kittering,  Being Without Kinsfolk And Under Age,  Are In

Verity A Ward Of The Parish,  And As Such,  It Hath Been Arranged

That You Become A Member Of The Household Of The Most Worthy

Elder Ezekiel Peck,  A Household Filled With The Spirit Of

Estimable Piety And True Doctrine; A Man,  Indeed,  Who,

Notwithstanding His Exterior Coldness And Severity,  Is Very Sound

In All Matters Regarding The Communion Of Saints,  And,  I May Even

Say In A Measure A Man Of Fame For Some Most Excellent Remarks He

Hath Passed On The Shorter Catechism,  Beside Which He Hath Gained

Much Approval For Having Pointed Out Two Hidden Meanings In The

27th Verse Of The 12th Chapter Of Hebrews; One Whose Very

Presence,  Therefore,  Is A Guarantee Against Levity,  Laxity,  And

False Preachment.

"There,  Now,  My Good Lad,  Look Not So Like A Colt That Feels The

Whip For The First Time.  You Will Have A Good Home,  Imbued With

The Spirit Of A Most Excellent Piety That Will Be Ever About

You."

"Like A Colt Feeling The Whip," Indeed!  Rolf Reeled Like A

Stricken Deer.  To Go Back As A Chore-Boy Drudge Was Possible,

But Not Alluring; To Leave Quonab,  Just As The Wood World Was

Opening To Him,  Was Devastating; But To Exchange It All For

Bondage In The Pious Household Of Old Peck,  Whose Cold Cruelty

Had Driven Off All His Own Children,  Was An Accumulation Of

Disasters That Aroused Him.

"I Won't Go!" He Blurted Out,  And Gazed Defiantly At The Broad

And Benevolent Selectman.

"Come Now,  Rolf,  Such Language Is Unbecoming.  Let Not A Hasty

Tongue Betray You Into Sin.  This Is What Your Mother Would Have

Wished.  Be Sensible; You Will Soon Find It Was All For The Best.

I Have Ever Liked You,  And Will Ever Be A Friend You Can Count

On.

"Acting,  Not According To My Instructions,  But According To My

Heart,  I Will Say Further That You Need Not Come Now,  You Need

Not Even Give Answer Now,  But Think It Over.  Nevertheless,

Remember That On Or Before Monday Morning Next,  You Will Be

Expected To Appear At Elder Peck's,  And I Fear That,  In Case You

Fail,  The Messenger Next Arriving Will Be One Much Less Friendly

Than Myself. Come Now,  Rolf,  Be A Good Lad,  And Remember That In

Your New Home You Will At Least Be Living For The Glory Of God."

Then,  With A Friendly Nod,  But An Expression Of Sorrow,  The

Large,  Black Messenger Turned And Tramped Away.

Rolf Slowly,  Limply,  Sank Down On A Rock And Stared At The Fire.

After Awhile Quonab Got Up And Began To Prepare The Mid-Day Meal.

Usually Rolf Helped Him.  Now He Did Nothing But Sullenly Glare

At The Glowing Coals.  In Half An Hour The Food Was Ready.  He

Ate Little; Then Went Away In The Woods By Himself.  Quonab Saw

Him Lying On A Flat Rock,  Looking At The Pond,  And Throwing

Pebbles Into It.  Later Quonab Went To Myanos.  On His Return He

Found That Rolf Had Cut Up A Great Pile Of Wood,  But Not A Word

Passed Between Them.  The Look Of Sullen Anger And Rebellion On

Rolf's Face Was Changing To One Of Stony Despair.  What Was

Passing In Each Mind The Other Could Not Divine.

The Evening Meal Was Eaten In Silence; Then Quonab Smoked For An

Hour,  Both Staring Into The Fire.  A Barred Owl Hooted And

Laughed Over Their Heads,  Causing The Dog To Jump Up And Bark At

The Sound That Ordinarily He Would Have Heeded Not At All.  Then

Silence Was Restored,  And The Red Man's Hidden Train Of Thought

Was In A Flash Revealed.

"Rolf,  Let's Go To The North Woods!"

It Was Another Astounding Idea.  Rolf Had Realized More And More

How Much This Valley Meant To Quonab,  Who Worshipped The Memory

Of His People.

"And Leave All This?" He Replied,  Making A Sweep With His Hand

Toward The Rock,  The Indian Trail,  The Site Of Bygone Petuquapen,

And The Graves Of The Tribe.

For Reply Their Eyes Met,  And From The Indian's Deep Chest Came

The Single Word,  "Ugh."  One Syllable,  Deep And Descending,  But

What A Tale It Told Of The Slowly Engendered And Strong-Grown

Partiality,  Of A Struggle That Had Continued Since The Morning

When The Selectman Came With Words Of Doom,  And Of Friendship's

Victory Won.

Rolf Realized This,  And It Gave Him A Momentary Choking In His

Throat,  And,  "I'm Ready If You Really Mean It."

"Ugh I Go,  But Some Day Come