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

Tongue Were

Removed.  Rolf Had Hard Work To Hold Him,  And Any One Not Knowing

The Case Might Have Thought That The Two Men Were Deliberately

Holding The Dog To Administer The Most Cruel Torture.

 

But None Of The Quills Had Sunk Very Deep.  All Were Got Out At

Last And The Little Dog Set Free.

 

Now Rolf Thought Of Vengeance On The Quill-Pig Snugly Sitting In

The Tree Near By.

 

Ammunition Was Too Predous To Waste,  But Rolf Was Getting Ready

To Climb When Quonab Said: "No,  No; You Must Not.  Once I Saw

White Man Climb After The Kahk; It Waited Till He Was Near,  Then

Backed Down,  Lashing Its Tail. He Put Up His Arm To Save His

Face.  It Speared His Arm In Fifty Places And He Could Not Save

His Face,  So He Tried To Get Down,  But The Kahk Came Faster,

Lashing Him; Then He Lost His Hold And Dropped.  His Leg Was

Broken And His Arm Was Swelled Up For Half A Year.  They Are Very

Poisonous. He Nearly Died."

 

"Well,  I Can At Least Chop Him Down," And Rolf Took The Axe.

 

"Wah!" Quonab Said,  "No; My Father Said You Must Not Kill The

Kahk,  Except You Make Sacrifice And Use His Quills For Household

Work.  It Is Bad Medicine To Kill The Kahk."

 

So The Spiny One Was Left Alone In The Place He Had So Ably

Fought For.  But Skookum,  What Of Him?  He Was Set Free At Last.

To Be Wiser?  Alas,  No! Before One Hour He Met With Another

Porcupine And Remembering Only His Hate Of The Creature Repeated

The Same Sad Mistake,  And Again Had To Have The Painful Help,

Without Which He Must Certainly Have Died.  Before Night,

However,  He Began To Feel His Real Punishment And Next Morning No

One Would Have Known The Pudding-Headed Thing That Sadly Followed

The Hunters,  For The Bright Little Dog That A Day Before Had Run

So Joyously Through The Woods.  It Was Many A Long Day Before He

Fully Recovered And At One Time His Life Was In The Balance; And

Yet To The Last Of His Days He Never Fully Realized The Folly Of

His Insensate Attacks On The Creature That Fights With Its Tail.

 

"It Is Ever So," Said The Indian.  "The Lynx,  The Panther,  The

Wolf,  The Fox,  The Eagle,  All That Attack The Kahk Must Die.

Once My Father Saw A Bear That Was Killed By The Quills.  He Had

Tried To Bite The Kahk; It Filled His Mouth With Quills That He

Could Not Spit Out.  They Sunk Deeper And His Jaws Swelled So He

Could Not Open Or Shut His Mouth To Eat; Then He Starved.  My

People Found Him Near A Fish Pond Below A Rapid.  There Were Many

Fish.  The Bear Could Kill Them With His Paw But Not Eat,  So With

His Mouth Wide Open And Plenty About Him He Died Of Starvation In

That Pool.

 

"There Is But One Creature That Can Kill The Kahk That Is The

Ojeeg The Big Fisher Weasel.  He Is A Devil.  He Makes Very

Strong Medicine; The Kahk Cannot Harm Him. He Turns It On Its

Back And Tears Open Its Smooth Belly. It Is Ever So.  We Not

Know,  But My,  Father Said,  That It Is Because When In The Flood

Nana Bojou Was Floating On The Log With Kahk And Ojeeg,  Kahk Was

Insolent And Wanted The Highest Place,  But Ojeeg Was Respectful

To Nana Bojou,  He Bit The Kahk To Teach Him A Lesson And Got

Lashed With The Tail Of Many Stings.  But The Manito Drew Out The

Quills And Said: 'It Shall Be Ever Thus; The Ojeeg Shall Conquer

The Kahk And The Quills Of Kahk Shall Never Do Ojeeg Any Harm.'"

 

 

 

Chapter 25 (The Otter Slide)

It Was Late Now And The Hunters Camped In The High Cool Woods.

Skookum Whined In His Sleep So Loudly As To Waken Them Once Or

Twice.  Near Dawn They Heard The Howling Of Wolves And The

Curiously Similar Hooting Of A Horned Owl.  There Is,  Indeed,

Almost No Differece Between The Short Opening Howl Of A She-Wolf

And The Long Hoot Of The Owl.  As He Listened,  Half Awake,  Rolf

Heard A Whirr Of Wings Which Stopped Overhead,  Then A Familiar

Chuckle.  He Sat Up And Saw Skookum Sadly Lift His Misshapen Head

To Gaze At A Row Of Black-Breasted Grouse Partridge On A Branch

Above,  But The Poor Doggie Was Feeling Too Sick To Take Any

Active Interest.  They Were Not Ruffed Grouse,  But A Kindred

Kind,  New To Rolf.  As He Gazed At The Perchers,  He Saw Quonab

Rise Gently,  Go To Nearest Willow And Cut A Long Slender Rod At

Least Two Feet Long; On The Top Of This He Made A Short Noose Of

Cord. Then He Went Cautiously Under The Watching Grouse,  The

Spruce Partridges,  And Reaching Up Slipped The Noose Over The

Neck Of The First One; A Sharp Jerk Then Tightened Noose,  And

Brought The Grouse Tumbling Out Of The Tree While Its Companions

Merely Clucked Their Puzzlement,  Made No Effort To Escape.

 

A Short,  Sharp Blow Put The Captive Out Of Pain.  The Rod Was

Reached Again And A Second,  The Lowest Always,  Was Jerked Down,

And The Trick Repeated Till Three Grouse Were Secured.  Then Only

Did It Dawn On The Others That They Were In A Most Perilous

Neighbourhood,  So They Took Flight.

 

Rolf Sat Up In Amazement.  Quonab Dropped The Three Birds By The

Fire And Set About Preparing Breakfast.

 

"These Are Fool Hens," He Explained.  "You Can Mostly Get Them

This Way; Sure,  If You Have A Dog To Help,  But Ruffed Grouse Is

No Such Fool."

 

Rolf Dressed The Birds And As Usual Threw The Entrails Skookum.

Poor Little Dog! He Was,  Indeed,  A Sorry Sight. He Looked Sadly

Out Of His Bulging Eyes,  Feebly Moved Swollen Jaws,  But Did Not

Touch The Food He Once Would Have Pounced On.  He Did Not Eat

Because He Could Not Open His Mouth.

 

At Camp The Trappers Made A Log Trap And Continued The Line With

Blazes And Deadfalls,  Until,  After A Mile,  They Came To A Broad

Tamarack Swamp,  And,  Skirting Its Edge,  Found A Small,  Outflowing

Stream That Brought Them To An Eastward-Facing Hollow.

Everywhere There Were Signs Game,  But They Were Not Prepared For

The Scene That Opened As They Cautiously Pushed Through The

Thickets Into A High,  Hardwood Bush.  A Deer Rose Out Of The

Grass And Stared Curiously At Them; Then Another And Another

Until Nearly A Dozen Were In Sight; Still Farther Many Others

Appeared; To The Left Were More,  And Movements Told Of Yet Others

To The Right. Then Their White Flags Went Up And All Loped Gently

Away On The Slope That Rose To The North. There May Have Been

Twenty Or Thirty Deer In Sight,  But The General Effect Of All

Their White Tails,  Bobbing Away,  Was That The Woods Were Full Of

Deer.  They Seemed To Be There By The Hundreds And The Joy Of

Seeing So Many Beautiful Live Things Was Helped In The Hunters By

The Feeling That This Was Their Own Hunting-Ground.  They Had,

Indeed,  Reached The Land Of Plenty.

 

The Stream Increased As They Marched; Many Springs And Some

Important Rivulets Joined On.  They Found Some Old Beaver Signs

But None New; And They Left Their Deadfalls Every Quarter Mile Or Less.

 

The Stream Began To Descend More Quickly Until It Was In A Long,

Narrow Valley With Steep Clay Sides And Many Pools.  Here They

Saw Again And Again The Tracks And Signs Of Otter And Coming

Quietly Round A Turn That Opened A New Reach They Heard A Deep

Splash,  Then Another And Another.

 

The Hunters' First Thought Was To Tie Up Skookum,  But A Glance

Showed That This Was Unnecessary.  They Softly Dropped The Packs

And The Sick Dog Lay Meekly Down Beside Them.  Then They Crept

Forward With Hunter Caution,  Favoured By An Easterly Breeze.

Their First Thought Was Of Beaver,  But They Had Seen No Recent

Sign,  Nor Was There Anything That Looked Like A Beaver Pond. The

Measured Splash,  Splash,  Splash -- Was Not So Far Ahead. It Might

Be A Bear Snatching Fish,  Or -- No,  That Was Too Unpleasant -- A

Man Baling Out A Canoe.  Still The Slow Splash,  Splash,  Went On

At Intervals,  Not Quite Regular.

 

Now It Seemed But Thirty Yards Ahead And In The Creek.

 

With The Utmost Care They Crawled To The Edge Of The Clay And

Opposite They Saw A Sight But Rarely Glimpsed By Man.  Here Were

Six Otters; Two Evidently Full-Grown,  And Four Seeming Young Of

The Pair,  Engaged In A Most Hilarious And Human Game Of Tobogganing

Down A Steep Clay Hill To Plump Into A Deep Part At Its Foot.

 

Plump Went The Largest,  Presumably The Father; Down He Went,  To

Reappear At The Edge,  Scramble Out And Up An Easy Slope To The

Top Of The Twenty-Foot Bank.  Splash,  Splash,  Splash,  Came Three

Of The Young Ones; Splash,  Splash,  The Mother And One Of The Cubs

Almost Together.

 

"Scoot" Went The Big Male Again,  And The Wet Furslopping And

Rubbing On The Long Clay Chute Made It Greasier And Slipperier

Every Time.

 

Splash,  Plump,  Splash -- Splash,  Plump,  Splash,  Went The Otter

Family Gleefully,  Running Up The Bank Again,   Eager Each To Be

First,  It Seemed,  And To Do The Chute The Oftenest.

 

The Gambolling Grace,  The Obvious Good Humour,  The Animal

Hilarity Of It All,  Was Absorbingly Amusing.  The Trappers Gazed

With Pleasure That Showed How Near Akin Are Naturalist And

Hunter.  Of Course,  They Had Some Covetous Thought Connected With

Those Glossy Hides,  But This Was September Still,  And Even Otter

Were Not Yet Prime. Shoot,  Plump,  Splash,  Went The Happy Crew

With Apparently  Unabated Joy And Hilarity.  The Slide Improved

With Use And The Otters Seemed Tireless; When All At Once A Loud

But Muffled Yelp Was Heard And Skookum,  Forgetting All Caution,

Came Leaping Down The Bank To Take A Hand.

 

With A Succession Of Shrill,  Birdy Chirps The Old Otters Warned

Their Young.  Plump,  Plump,  Plump,  All Shot Into The Pool,  But To

Reappear,  Swimming With Heads Out,  For They Were But Slightly

Alarmed.  This Was Too Much For Quonob; He Levelled His Flintlock;

Snap,  Bang,  It Went,  Pointed At The Old Male,  But He Dived At The

Snap And Escaped.  Down The Bank Now Rushed The Hunters,

Joined By Skookum,  To Attack The Otters In The Pool,  For It Was

Small And Shallow; Unless A Burrow Led From It,  They Were  Trapped.

 

But The Otters Realized The Peril.  All Six Dashed Out Of The

Pool,  Down The Open,  Gravelly Stream The Old Ones Uttering Loud

Chirps That Rang Like Screams.  Under The Fallen Logs And Brush

They Glided,  Dodging Beneath Roots And Over Banks,  Pursued By The

Hunters,  Each Armed With A Club And By Skookum Not Armed At All.

 

The Otters Seemed To Know Where They Were Going And Distanced All

But The Dog.  Forgetting His Own Condition Skookum Had Almost

Overtaken One Of The Otter Cubs When The Mother Wheeled About

And,  Hissing And Snarling,  Charged.  Skookum Was Lucky To Get Off

With A Slight Nip,  For The Otter Is A Dangerous Fighter.  But The

Unlucky Dog Was Sent Howling Back To The Two Packs That He Never

Should Have Left.

 

The Hunters Now Found An Open Stretch Of Woods Through Which

Quonab Could Run Ahead And Intercept The Otters As They Bounded

On Down The Stream Bed,  Pursued By Rolf,  Who Vainly Tried To Deal

A Blow With His Club.  In A Few Seconds The Family Party Was Up

To Quonab,  Trapped It Seemed,  But There Is No More Desperate

Assailant Than An Otter Fighting For Its Young.  So Far From

Being Cowed The Two Old Ones Made A Simultaneous,  Furious Rush At

The Indian.  Wholly Taken By Surprise,  He Missed With His Club,

And Sprang Aside To Escape Their Jaws.   The Family Dashed Around

Then Past Him,  And,  Urged By The Continuous Chirps Of The Mother,

They Plunged Under A Succession Of Log Jams And Into A Willow

Swamp That Spread Out Into An Ancient Beaver Lake And Were

Swallowed Up In The Silent Wilderness.