Rolf In The Woods, Ernest Thompson Seton [warren buffett book recommendations TXT] 📗

Before That Dark,  Dread Hour Of Night That

Brings The Ebbing Life Force Low,  The Wonderful Miracle Was

Complete; There Was Another Tow-Top In The Settler's Home,  And

All Was Well.

 

Chapter 16 (Life With The Dutch Settler)

The Indians Slept In The Luxuriant Barn Of Logs,  With Blankets,

Plenty Of Hay,  And A Roof.  They Were More Than Content,  For Now,

On The Edge Of The Wilderness,  They Were Very Close To Wild Life.

Not A Day Or A Night Passed Without Bringing Proof Of That.

 

One End Of The Barn Was Portioned Off For Poultry.  In This The

Working Staff Of A Dozen Hens Were Doing Their Duty,  Which,  On

That First Night Of The "Brown Angels' Visit," Consisted Of

Silent Slumber,  When All At Once The Hens And The New Hands Were

Aroused By A Clamorous Cackling,  Which Speedily Stopped.  It

Sounded Like A Hen Falling In A Bad Dream,  Then Regaining Her

Perch To Go To Sleep Again.  But Next Morning The Body Of One Of

These Highly Esteemed Branches Of The Egg-Plant Was Found In The

Corner,  Partly Devoured.  Quonab Examined The Headless Hen,  The

Dust Around,  And Uttered The Word,  "Mink."

 

Rolf Said,  "Why Not Skunk?"

 

"Skunk Could Not Climb To The Perch."

 

"Weasel Then."

 

"Weasel Would Only Suck The Blood,  And Would Kill Three Or Four."

 

"Coon Would Carry Him Away,  So Would Fox Or Wildcat,  And A Marten

Would Not Come Into The Building By Night."

 

There Was No Question,  First,  That It Was A Mink,  And,  Second,

That He Was Hiding About The Barn Until The Hunger Pang Should

Send Him Again To The Hen House.  Quonab Covered The Hen's Body

With Two Or Three Large Stones So That There Was Only One

Approach.  In The Way Of This Approach He Buried A "Number One"

Trap.

 

That Night They Were Aroused Again; This Time By A Frightful

Screeching,  And A Sympathetic,  Inquiring Cackle From The Fowls.

 

Arising,  Quickly They Entered With A Lantem.  Rolf Then Saw A

Sight That Gave Him A Prickling In His Hair.  The Mink,  A Large

Male,  Was Caught By One Front Paw.  He Was Writhing And Foaming,

Tearing,  Sometimes At The Trap,  Sometimes At The Dead Hen,  And

Sometimes At His Own Imprisoned Foot,  Pausing Now And Then To

Utter The Most Ear-Piercing Shrieks,  Then Falling Again In Crazy

Animal Fury On The Trap,  Splintering His Sharp White Teeth,

Grinding The Cruel Metal With Bruised And Bloody Jaws,  Frothing,

Snarling,  Raving Mad.  As His Foemen Entered He Turned On Them A

Hideous Visage Of Inexpressible Fear And Hate,  Rage And Horror.

His Eyes Glanced Back Green Fire In The Lantern Light; He

Strained In Renewed Efforts To Escape; The Air Was Rank With His

Musky Smell.  The Impotent Fury Of His Struggle Made A Picture

That Continued In Rolf's Mind.  Quonab Took A Stick And With A

Single Blow Put An End To The Scene,  But Never Did Rolf Forget

It,  And Never Afterward Was He A Willing Partner When The

Trapping Was Done With Those Relentless Jaws Of Steel.

 

A Week Later Another Hen Was Missing,  And The Door Of The Hen

House Left Open.  After A Careful Examination Of The Dust,  Inside

And Out Of The Building,  Quonab Said,  "Coon." It Is Very Unusual

For Coons To Raid A Hen House. Usually It Is Some Individual With

Abnormal Tastes,  And Once He Begins,  He Is Sure To Come Back.

The Indian Judged That He Might Be Back The Next Night,  So

Prepared A Trap.  A Rope Was Passed From The Door Latch To A

Tree; On This Rope A Weight Was Hung,  So That The Door Was

Selfshutting,  And To Make It Self-Locking He Leaned A Long Pole

Against It Inside.  Now He Propped It Open With A Single

Platform,  So Set That The Coon Must Walk On It Once He Was

Inside,  And So Release The Door.  The Trappers Thought They Would

Hear In The Night When The Door Closed,  But They Were Sleepy;

They Knew Nothing Until Next Morning. Then They Found That The

Self-Shutter Had Shut,  And Inside,  Crouched In One Of The Nesting

Boxes,  Was A Tough,  Old Fighting Coon.  Strange To Tell,  He Had

Not Touched A Second Hen.  As Soon As He Found Himself A Prisoner

He Had Experienced A Change Of Heart,  And Presently His Skin Was

Nailed On The End Of The Barn And His Meat Was Hanging In The

Larder.

 

"Is This A Marten," Asked Little Annette.  And When Told Not,  Her

Disappointment Elicited The Information That Old Warren,  The

Storekeeper,  Had Promised Her A Blue Cotton Dress For A Marten

Skin.

 

"You Shall Have The First One I Catch," Said Rolf.

 

Life In Van Trumper's Was Not Unpleasant.  The Mother Was Going

About Again In A Week.  Annette Took Charge Of The Baby,  As Well

As Of The Previous Arrivals.  Hendrik Senior Was Gradually

Overcoming His Difficulties,  Thanks To The Unexpected Help,  And A

Kindly Spirit Made The Hard Work Not So Very Hard.  The Shyness

That Was At First Felt Toward The Indians Wore Off,  Especially In

The Case Of Rolf,  He Was Found So Companionable; And The

Dutchman,  After Puzzling Over The Combination Of Brown Skin And

Blue Eyes,  Decided That Rolf Was A Half-Breed.

 

August Wore On Not Unpleasantly For The Boy,  But Quonab Was

Getting Decidedly Restless.  He Could Work For A Week As Hard As

Any White Man,  But His Race Had Not Risen To The Dignity Of

Patient,  Unremitting,  Life-Long Toil.

 

"How Much Money Have We Now,  Nibowaka?" Was One Of The Mid-August

Indications Of Restlessness.  Rolf Reckoned Up; Half A Month For

Quonab,  $15.00; For Himself,  $10.00; For Finding The Cows $2.00

-- $27.00 In All.  Not Enough.

 

Three Days Later Quonab Reckoned Up Again.  Next Day He Said: "We

Need Two Months' Open Water To Find A Good Country And Build A

Shanty."  Then Did Rolf Do The Wise Thing; He Went To Fat Hendrik

And Told Him All About It.  They Wanted To Get A Canoe And An

Outfit,  And Seek For A Trapping Or Hunting Ground That Would Not

Encroach On Those Already Possessed,  For The Trapping Law Is

Rigid; Even The Death Penalty Is Not Considered Too High In

Certain Cases Of Trespass,  Provided The Injured Party Is Ready To

Be Judge,  Jury,  And Executioner.  Van Trumper Was Able To Help

Them Not A Little In The Matter Of Location -- There Was No Use

Trying On The Vermont Side,  Nor Anywhere Near Lake Champlain,  Nor

Near Lake George; Neither Was It Worth While Going To The Far

North,  As The Frenchmen Came In There,  And They Were Keen

Hunters,  So That Hamilton County Was More Promising Than Any

Other,  But It Was Almost Inaccessible,  Remote From All The Great

Waterways,  And Of Course Without Roads; Its Inaccessibility Was

The Reason Why It Was Little Known. So Far So Good; But Happy

Hendrik Was Unpleasantly Surprised To Learn That The New Help

Were For Leaving At Once. Finally He Made This Offer: If They

Would Stay Till September First,  And So Leave All In "Good Shape

Fer Der Vinter," He Would,  Besides The Wages Agreed,  Give Them

The Canoe,  One Axe,  Six Mink Traps,  And A Fox Trap Now Hanging In

The Barn,  And Carry Them In His Wagon As Far As The Five- Mile

Portage From Lake George To Schroon River,  Down Which They Could

Go To Its Junction With The Upper Hudson,  Which,  Followed Up

Through Forty Miles Of Rapids And Hard Portages,  Would Bring Them

To A Swampy River That Enters From The Southwest,  And Ten Miles

Up This Would Bring Them To Jesup's Lake,  Which Is Two Miles Wide

And Twelve Miles Long.  This Country Abounded With Game,  But Was

So Hard To Enter That After Jesup's Death It Was Deserted.

 

There Was Only One Possible Answer To Such An Offer -- They Stayed.

 

In Spare Moments Quonab Brought The Canoe Up To The Barn,

Stripped Off Some Weighty Patches Of Bark And Canvas And Some

Massive Timber Thwarts,  Repaired The Ribs,  And When Dry And

Gummed,  Its Weight Was Below One Hundred Pounds; A Saving Of At

Least Forty Pounds On The Soggy Thing He Crossed The Lake In That

First Day On The Farm.

 

September Came.  Early In The Morning Quonab Went Alone To The

Lakeside; There On A Hill Top He Sat,  Looking Toward The Sunrise,

And Sang A Song Of The New Dawn,  Beating,  Not With A Tom-Tom --

He Had None -- But With One Stick On Another.  And When The

Sunrise Possessed The Earth He Sang Again The Hunter's Song:

 

"Father,  Guide Our Feet,  Lead Us To The Good Hunting."

 

Then He Danced To The Sound,  His Face Skyward,  His Eyes Closed,

His Feet Barely Raised,  But Rythmically Moved. So Went He Three

Times Round To The Chant In Three Sun Circles,  Dancing A Sacred

Measure,  As Royal David Might Have Done That Day When He Danced

Around The Ark Of The Covenant On Its Homeward Joumey.  His Face

Was Illumined,  And No Man Could Have Seen Him Then Without

Knowing That This Was A True Heart's Worship Of A True God,  Who

Is In All Things He Has Made.

 

Chapter 17 (Canoeing On The Upper Hudson)

There Is Only One Kind Of A Man I Can't Size Up; That's The

Faller That Shets Up And Says Nothing. -Sayings Of Si Sylvanne.

 

A Settler Named Hulett Had A Scow That Was Borrowed By The

Neighbours Whenever Needed To Take A Team Across The Lake.  On

The Morning Of Their Journey,  The Dutchman's Team And Wagon,  The

Canoe And The Men,  Were Aboard The Scow,  Skookum Took His Proper

Place At The Prow,  And All Was Ready For "Goodbye." Rolf Found It

A Hard Word To Say.  The Good Old Dutch Mother Had Won His Heart,

And The Children Were Like His Brothers And Sisters.

 

"Coom Again,  Lad; Coom And See Us Kvick."  She Kissed Him,  He

Kissed Annette And The Three Later Issues. They Boarded The Scow

To Ply The Poles Till The Deep Water Was Reached,  Then The Oars.

An East Wind Springing Up Gave Them A Chance To Profit By A

Wagon-Cover Rigged As A Sail,  And Two Hours Later The Scow Was

Safely Landed At West Side,  Where Was A Country Store,  And The

Head Of The Wagon Road To The Schroon River.

 

As They Approached The Door,  They Saw A Rough-Looking Man

Slouching Against The Building,  His Hands In His Pockets,  His

Blear Eyes Taking In The New-Comers With A Look Of Contemptuous

Hostility.  As They Passed,  He Spat Tobacco Juice On The Dog And

Across The Feet Of The Men.

 

Old Warren Who Kept The Store Was Not Partial To Indians,  But He

Was A Good Friend Of Hendrik And Very Keen To Trade For Fur,  So

The New Trappers Were Well Received; And Now Came The Settling Of

Accounts.  Flour,  Oatmeal,  Pork,  Potatoes,  Tea,  Tobacco,  Sugar,

Salt,  Powder,  Ball,  Shot,  Clothes,  Lines,  An Inch-Auger,  Nails,

Knives,  Awls,  Needles,  Files,  Another Axe,  Some Tin Plates,  And A

Frying Pan Were Selected And Added To Hendrik's Account.

 

"If I Was You,  I'd Take A Windy-Sash; You'll Find It Mighty

Convenient In Cold Weather." The Store Keeper Led Them Into An

Outhouse Where Was A Pile Of Six-Lighted Window-Frames All

Complete.  So The Awkward Thing Was Added To Their Load.

 

"Can't I Sell You A Fine Rifle?" And He Took Down A New,  Elegant

Small Bore Of