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

There Was A Long Silence,  Then Rolf,  "When Shall We Start?" And

The Answer,  "To-Morrow Night,"

When Quonab Left Camp In The Morning He Went Heavy Laden,  And The

Trail He Took Led To Myanos. There Was Nothing Surprising In It

When He Appeared At Silas Peck's Counter And Offered For Sale A

Pair Of Snowshoes,  A Bundle Of Traps,  Some Dishes Of Birch Bark

And Basswood,  And A Tom-Tom,  Receiving In Exchange Some Tea,

Tobacco,  Gunpowder,  And Two Dollars In Cash. He Turned Without

Comment,  And Soon Was Back In Camp. He Now Took The Kettle Into

The Woods And Brought It Back Filled With Bark,  Fresh Chipped

From A Butternut Tree.  Water Was Added,  And The Whole Boiled

Till It Made A Deep Brown Liquid.  When This Was Cooled He Poured

It Into A Flat Dish,  Then Said To Rolf: "Come Now,  I Make You A

Sinawa."

With A Soft Rag The Colour Was Laid On.  Face,  Head,  Neck,  And

Hands Were All At First Intended,  But Rolf Said,  "May As Well Do

The Whole Thing." So He Stripped Off; The Yellow Brown Juice On

His White Skin Turned It A Rich Copper Colour,  And He Was Changed

Into An Indian Lad That None Would Have Taken For Rolf Kittering.

The Stains Soon Dried,  And Rolf,  Re-Clothed,  Felt That Already He

Had Burned A Bridge.

Two Portions Of The Wigwam Cover Were Taken Off; And Two Packs

Were Made Of The Bedding.  The Tomahawk,  Bows,  Arrows,  And Gun,

With The Few Precious Food Pounds In The Copper Pot,  Were Divided

Between Them And Arranged Into Packs With Shoulder Straps; Then

All Was Ready. But There Was One Thing More For Quonab; He Went

Up Alone To The Rock.  Rolf Knew What He Went For,  And Judged It

Best Not To Follow.

The Indian Lighted His Pipe,  Blew The Four Smokes To The Four

Winds,  Beginning With The West,  Then He Sat In Silence For A

Time.  Presently The Prayer For Good Hunting Came From The Rock:

"Father Lead Us!

Father,  Help Us!

Father,  Guide Us To The Good Hunting."

And When That Ceased A Barred Owl Hooted In The Woods,

Away To The North.

"Ugh! Good," Was All He Said As He Rejoined Rolf; And They Set

Out,  As The Sun Went Down,  On Their Long Journey Due Northward,

Quonab,  Rolf,  And Skookum.  They Had Not Gone A Hundred Yards

Before The Dog Turned Back,  Raced To A Place Where He Had A Bone

In Cache And Rejoining There Trotted Along With His Bone.

The High Road Would Have Been The Easier Travelling,  But It Was

Very Necessary To Be Unobserved,  So They Took The Trail Up The

Brook Asamuk,  And After An Hour's Tramp Came Out By The Cat-Rock

Road That Runs Westerly.  Again They Were Tempted By The Easy

Path,  But Again Quonab Decided On Keeping To The Woods.  Half An

Hour Later They Were Halted By Skookum Treeing A Coon.  After

They Had Secured The Dog,  They Tramped On Through The Woods For

Two Hours More,  And Then,  Some Eight Miles From The Pipestave,

They Halted,  Rolf,  At Least,  Tired Out.  It Was Now Midnight.

They Made A Hasty Double Bed Of The Canvas Cover Over A Pole

Above Them,  And Slept Till Morning,  Cheered,  As They Closed Their

Drowsy Eyes,  By The "Hoo,  Hoo,  Hoo,  Hoo,  Yah,  Hoo," Of Their

Friend,  The Barred Owl,  Still To The Northward.

The Sun Was High,  And Quonab Had Breakfast Ready Before Rolf

Awoke.  He Was So Stiff With The Tramp And The Heavy Pack That It

Was With Secret Joy He Learned That They Were To Rest,  Concealed

In The Woods,  That Day,  And Travel Only By Night,  Until In A

Different Region,  Where None Knew Or Were Likely To Stop Them.

They Were Now In York State,  But That Did Not By Any Means Imply

That They Were Beyond Pursuit.

As The Sun Rose High,  Rolf Went Forth With His Bow And Blunt

Arrows,  And Then,  Thanks Largely To Skookum,  He Succeeded In

Knocking Over A Couple Of Squirrels,  Which,  Skinned And Roasted,

Made Their Dinner That Day.  At Night They Set Out As Before,

Making About Ten Miles.  The Third Night They Did Better,  And The

Next Day Being Sunday,  They Kept Out Of Sight.  But Monday

Morning,  Bright And Clear,  Although It Was The First Morning When

They Were Sure Of Being Missed,  They Started To Tramp Openly

Along The Highway,  With A Sense Of Elation That They Had Not

Hitherto Known On The Joumey.  Two Things Impressed Rolf By Their

Novelty: The Curious Stare Of The Country Folk Whose Houses And

Teams They Passed,  And The Violent Antagonism Of The Dogs.

Usually The Latter Could Be Quelled By Shaking A Stick At Them,

Or By Pretending To Pick Up A Stone,  But One Huge And Savage

Brindled Mastiff Kept Following And Barking Just Out Of Stick

Range,  And Managed To Give Skookum A Mauling,  Until Quonab Drew

His Bow And Let Fly A Blunt Arrow That Took The Brute On The End

Of The Nose,  And Sent Him Howl- Ing Homeward,  While Skookum Got A

Few Highly Satisfactory Nips At The Enemy's Rear.  Twenty Miles

They Made That Day And Twenty-Five The Next,  For Now They Were On

Good Roads,  And Their Packs Were Lighter.  More Than Once They

Found Kind Farmer Folk Who Gave Them A Meal. But Many Times

Skookum Made Trouble For Them.  The Farmers Did Not Like The Way

He Behaved Among Their Hens.  Skookum Never Could Be Made To

Grasp The Fine Zoological Distinction Between Partridges Which

Are Large Birds And Fair Game,  And Hens Which Are Large Birds,

But Not Fair Game.  Such Hair Splitting Was Obviously Unworthy Of

Study,  Much Less Of Acceptance.

Soon It Was Clearly Better For Rolf,  Approaching A House,  To Go

Alone,  While Quonab Held Skookum.  The Dogs Seemed Less Excited

By Rolf's Smell,  And Remembering His Own Attitude When Tramps

Came To One Or Another Of His Ancient Homes,  He Always Asked If

They Would Let Him Work For A Meal,  And Soon Remarked That His

Success Was Better When He Sought First The Women Of The House,

And Then,  Smiling To Show His Very White Teeth,  Spoke In Clear

And Un-Indian English,  Which Had The More Effect Coming From An

Evident Indian.

"Since I Am To Be An Indian,  Quonab,  You Must Give Me An Indian

Name," He Said After One Of These Episodes.

"Ugh! Good!  That's Easy!  You Are 'Nibowaka,' The Wise One." For

The Indian Had Not Missed Any Of The Points,  And So He Was Named.

Twenty Or Thirty Miles A Day They Went Now,  Avoiding The

Settlements Along The River.  Thus They Saw Nothing Of Albany,

But On The Tenth Day They Reached Fort Edward,  And For The First

Time Viewed The Great Hudson.  Here They Stayed As Short A Time

As Might Be,  Pushed On By Glen's Falls,  And On The Eleventh Night

Of The Journey They Passed The Old,  Abandoned Fort,  And Sighted

The Long Stretch Of Lake George,  With Its Wooded Shore,  And

Glimpses Of The Mountains Farther North.

Now A New Thought Possessed Them -- "If Only The Had The Canoe

That They Had Abandoned On The Pipestave." It Came To Them Both

At The Sight Of The Limit Less Water,  And Especially When Rolf

Remembered That Lake George Joined With Champlain,  Which Again

Was The Highway To All The Wilderness.

They Camped Now As They Had Fifty Times Before,  And Made Their

Meal.  The Bright Blue Water Dancing Near Was Alluring,

Inspiring; As They Sought The Shore Quonab Pointed To A Track And

Said,  "Deer." He Did Not Show Much Excitement,  But Rolf Did,  And

They Returned To The Camp Fire With A New Feeling Of Elation -

They Had Reached The Promised Land.  Now They Must Prepare For

The Serious Work Of Finding A Hunting Ground That Was Not Already

Claimed.

Quonab,  Remembering The Ancient Law Of The Woods,  That Parcels

Off The Valleys,  Each To The Hunter First Arriving,  Or Succeeding

The One Who Had,  Was Following His Own Line Of Thought.  Rolf Was

Puzzling Over Means To Get An Outfit,  Canoe,  Traps,  Axes,  And

Provisions.  The Boy Broke Silence.

"Quonab,  We Must Have Money To Get An Outfit; This Is The

Beginning Of Harvest; We Can Easily Get Work For A Month.  That

Will Feed Us And Give Us Money Enough To Live On,  And A Chance To

Learn Something About The Country."

The Reply Was Simple,  "You Are Nibowaka."

The Farms Were Few And Scattered Here,  But There Were One Or Two

Along The Lake.  To The Nearest One With Standing Grain Rolf Led

The Way.  But Their Reception,  From The First Brush With The Dog

To The Final Tilt With The Farmer,  Was Unpleasant -- "He Didn't

Want Any Darn Red-Skins Around There.  He Had Had Two St. Regis

Indians Last Year,  And They Were A Couple Of Drunken Good-

For-Nothings."

The Next Was The House Of A Fat Dutchman,  Who Was Just Wondering

How He Should Meet The Compounded Accumulated Emergencies Of Late

Hay,  Early Oats,  Weedy Potatoes,  Lost Cattle,  And A Prospective

Increase Of His Family,  When Two Angels Of Relief Appeared At His

Door,  In Copper-Coloured Skins.

"Cahn Yo Work Putty Goood?

"Yes,  I Have Always Lived On A Farm," And Rolf Showed His Hands,

Broad And Heavy For His Years.

"Cahn Yo Mebby Find My Lost Cows,  Which I Haf Not Find,  Already

Yet?"

Could They! It Would Be Fun To Try.

"I Giff Yo Two Dollars You Pring Dem Putty Kvick."

So Quonab Took The Trail To The Woods,  And Rolf Started Into The

Potatoes With A Hoe,  But He Was Stopped By A Sudden Outcry Of

Poultry.  Alas!  It Was Skookum On An Ill-Judged Partridge Hunt.

A Minute Later He Was Ignominiously Chained To A Penitential

Post,  Nor Left It During The Travellers' Sojourn.

In The Afternoon Quonab Returned With The Cattle,  And As He Told

Rolf He Saw Five Deer,  There Was An Unmisakable Hunter Gleam In

His Eye.

Three Cows In Milk,  And Which Had Not Been Milked For Two Days,

Was A Serious Matter,  Needing Immediate Attention.  Rolf Had

Milked Five Cows Twice A Day For Five Years,  And A Glance Showed

Old Van Trumper That The Boy Was An Expert.

"Good,  Good! I Go Now Make Feed Swine."

He Went Into The Outhouse,  But A Tow-Topped,  Redcheeked Girl Ran

After Him.  "Father,  Father,  Mother Says --" And The  Rest Was

Lost.

"Myn Hemel! Myn Hemel! I Thought It Not So Soon," And The Fat

Dutchman Followed The Child. A Moment Later He Reappeared,  His

Jolly Face Clouded With A Look Of Grave Concern. "Hi Yo Big

Injun,  Yo Cahn Paddle Canoe?"  Quonab Nodded. "Den Coom.

Annette,  Pring Tomas Und Hendrik."  So The Father Carried

Two-Year-Old Hendrik,  While The Indian Carried Six-Year-Old

Tomas,  And Twelve-Year-Old Annette Followed In Vague,

Uncomprehended Alarm.  Arrived At The Shore The Children Were

Placed In The Canoe,  And Then The Difficulties Came Fully To The

Father's Mind -- He Could Not Leave His Wife.  He Must Send The

Children With The Messenger -- In A Sort Of Desperation,  "Cahn

You Dem Childen Take To De House Across De Lake,  And Pring Back

Mrs. Callan?  Tell Her Marta Van Trumper Need Her Right Now Mooch

Very Kvick."  The Indian Nodded.  Then The Father Hesitated,  But

A Glance At The Indian Was Enough.  Something Said,  "He Is Safe,"

And In Spite Of Sundry Wails From The Little Ones Left With A

Dark Stranger,  He Pushed Off The Canoe: "Yo Take Care For My

Babies," And Turned His Brimming Eyes Away.

The Farmhouse Was Only Two Miles Off,  And The Evening Calm; No

Time Was Lost: What Woman Will Not Instantly Drop All Work And

All Interests,  To Come To The Help Of Another In The Trial Time

Of Motherhood?

Within An Hour The Neighbour's Wife Was Holding Hands With The

Mother Of The Banished Tow-Heads.  He Who Tempers The Wind And

Appoints The Season Of The Wild Deer Hinds Had Not Forgotten The

Womanhood Beyond The Reach Of Skilful Human Help,  And With The

Hard And Lonesome Life Had Conjoined A Sweet And Blessed

Compensation. What Would Not Her Sister Of The City Give For Such

Immunity; And Long