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

How Close He Could Come To Skookum's Nose Without

Being Caught,  While Rolf Looked On.  Quonab Was Lying Back On A

Pile Of Deer Skins,  With His Pipe In His Mouth,  His Head On The

Bunk,  And His Hands Clasped Back Of His Neck.

 

There Was An Atmosphere Of Content And Brotherly Feeling; The

Evening Was Young,  When Rolf Broke Silence:

 

"Were You Ever Married,  Quonab?"

 

"Ugh," Was The Indian's Affirmative.

 

"Where?"

 

"Myanos."

 

Rolf Did Not Venture More Questions,  But Left The  Influence Of

The Hour To Work.  It Was A Moment Of Delicate Poise,  And Rolf

Knew A Touch Would Open The Door Or Double Bar It.  He Wondered

How He Might Give That Touch As He Wished It.  Skookum Still

Slept.  Both Men Watched The Mouse,  As,  With Quick Movements It

Crept About. Presently It Approached A Long Birch Stick That

Stood Up Against The Wall.  High Hanging Was The Song-Drum.  Rolf

Wished Quonab Would Take It And Let It Open His Heart,  But He

Dared Not Offer It; That Might Have The Exact Wrong Effect.  Now

The Mouse Was Behind The Birch Stick.  Then Rolf Noticed That The

Stick If It Were To Fall Would Strike A Drying Line,  One End Of

Which Was On The Song-Drum Peg. So He Made A Dash At The Mouse

And Displaced The Stick; The Jerk It Gave The Line Sent The

Song-Drum With Hollow Bumping To The Ground.  The Boy Stooped To

Replace It; As He Did,  Quonab Grunted And Rolf Turned To See His

Hand Stretched For The Drum.  Had Rolf Officiously Offered It,  It

Would Have Been Refused; Now The Indian Took It,  Tapped And

Warmed It At The Fire,  And Sang A Song Of The Wabanaki.  It Was

Softly Done,  And Very Low,  But Rolf Was Close,  For Almost The

First Time In Any Long Rendition,  And He Got An Entirely New

Notion Of The Red Music.  The Singer's Face Brightened As He

Tummed And Sang With Peculiar Grace Notes And Throat Warbles Of

"Kaluscap's War With The Magi," And The Spirit Of His People,

Rising To The Sweet Magic Of Melody,  Came Shining In His Eyes.

He Sang The Lovers' Song,  "The Bark Canoe." (See F. R. Burton's

"American Primitive Music.)

 

"While The Stars Shine And Falls The Dew,  I Seek My Love In Bark Canoe."

 

And Then The Cradle Song,

 

"The Naked Bear Shall Never Catch Thee."

 

When He Stopped,  He Stared At The Fire; And After A Long Pause

Rolf Ventured,  "My Mother Would Have Loved Your Songs."

 

Whether He Heard Or Not,  The Warm Emanation Surely Reached The

Indian,  And He Began To Answer The Question Of An Hour Before:

 

"Her Name Was Gamowini,  For She Sang Like The Sweet Night Bird At

Asamuk.  I Brought Her From Her Father's House At Saugatuck.  We

Lived At Myanos.  She Made Beautiful Baskets And Moccasins.  I

Fished And Trapped; We Had Enough.  Then The Baby Came.  He Had

Big Round Eyes,  So We Called Him Wee-Wees,  'Our Little Owl,' And

We Were Very Happy.  When Gamowini Sang To Her Baby,  The World

Seemed Full Of Sun.  One Day When Wee-Wees Could Walk She Left

Him With Me And She Went To Stamford With Some Baskets To Sell.

A Big Ship Was In The Harbour.  A Man From The Ship Told Her That

His Sailors Would Buy All Her Baskets. She Had No Fear.  On The

Ship They Seized Her For A Runaway Slave,  And Hid Her Till They

Sailed Away.

 

"When She Did Not Come Back I Took Wee-Wees On My Shoulder And

Went Quickly To Stamford.  I Soon Found Out A Little,  But The

People Did Not Know The Ship,  Or Whence She Came,  Or Where She

Went,  They Said.  They Did Not Seem To Care.  My Heart Grew

Hotter And Wilder.  I Wanted To Fight.  I Would Have Killed The

Men On The Dock,  But They Were Many.  They Bound Me And Put Me In

Jail For Three Months.  'When I Came Out Wee-Wees Was Dead.  They

Did Not Care.  I Have Heard Nothing Since.  Then I Went To Live

Under The Rock,  So I Should Not See Our First Home. I Do Not

Know; She May Be Alive.  But I Think It Killed Her To Lose Her Baby."

 

The Indian Stopped; Then Rose Quickly.  His Face Was Hard Set.

He Stepped Out Into The Snowstorm And The Night.  Rolf Was Left

Alone With Skookum.

 

Sad,  Sad,  Everything Seemed Sad In His Friend's Life,  And Rolf,

Brooding Over It With Wisdom Beyond His Years,  Could Not Help

Asking: "Had Quonab And Gamowini Been White Folk,  Would It Have

Happened So?  Would His Agony Have Been Received With Scornful

Indifference?  Alas! He Knew It Would Not.  He Realized It Would

Have Been A Very Different Tale,  And The Sequent Questions That

Would Not Down,  Were,  "Will This Bread Cast On The Waters Return

After Many Days?" "Is There A God Of Justice And Retribution?"

"On Whom Will The Flail Of Vengeance Fall For All These Abominations?"

 

Two Hours Later The Indian Returned.  No Word Was Spoken As He

Entered.  He Was Not Cold.  He Must Have Walked Far.  Rolf

Prepared For Bed.  The Indian Stooped,  Picked Up A Needle From

The Dusty Ground,  One That Had Been Lost The Day Before,  Silently

Handed It To His  Companion,  Who Gave Only A Recognizant "Hm,"

And Dropped It Into The Birch-Bark Box.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 44 (The Lost Bundle Of Furs)

There Had Been A Significant Cessation Of Robbery On Their Trap

Line After The Inconclusive Visit To The Enemy's Camp.  But A New

And Extreme Exasperation  Arose In The Month Of March,  When The

Alternation  Of Thaw And Frost Had Covered The Snow With A Hard

Crust That Rendered Snowshoes Unnecessary And Made It Easy To Run

Anywhere And Leave No Track.

 

They Had Gathered Up A Fisher And Some Martens Before They

Reached The Beaver Pond.  They Had No Beaver Traps Now,  But It

Was Interesting To Call And See How Many Of The Beavers Were

Left,  And What They Were Doing.

 

Bubbling Springs On The Bank Of The Pond Had Made Open Water At

Several Places,  Now That The Winter Frost Was Weakening.  Out Of

These The Beavers Often Came,  As Was Plainly Seen In The Tracks,

So The Trappers Approached Them Carefully.

 

They Were Scrutinizing One Of Them From Behind A Log,  Quonab With

Ready Gun,  Rolf Holding The Unwilling Skookum,   When The Familiar

Broad,  Flat Head Appeared.  A Large Beaver Swam Around The Hole,

Sniffed And Looked,  Then Silently Climbed The Bank,  Evidently

Making For A Certain Aspen Tree That He Had Already Been Cutting.

He Was In Easy Range,  And The Gunner Was About To Fire When Rolf

Pressed His Arm And Pointed.  Here,  Wandering Through The Wood,

Came A Large Lynx.  It Had Not Seen Or Smelt Any Of The Living

Creatures Ahead,  As Yet,  But Speedily Sighted The Beaver Now

Working Away To Cut Down His Tree.

 

As A Pelt,  The Beaver Was Worth More Than The Lynx,  But The

Naturalist Is Strong In Most Hunters,  And They Watched To See

What Would Happen.

 

The Lynx Seemed To Sink Into The Ground,  And Was Lost To Sight As

Soon As He Knew Of A Possible Prey Ahead.  And Now He Began His

Stalk.  The Hunters Sighted Him Once As He Crossed A Level

Opening In The Snow.  He Seemed Less Than Four Inches High As He

Crawled.  Logs,  Ridges,  Trees,  Or Twigs,  Afforded Ample

Concealment,  Till His Whiskers Appeared In A Thicket Within

Fifteen Feet Of The Beaver.

 

All This Was Painfully Exciting To Skookum,  Who,  Though He Could

Not See,  Could Get Some Thrilling Whiffs,  And He Strained Forward

To Improve His Opportunities.  The Sound Of This Slight Struggle

Caught The Beaver's Ear.  It Stopped Work,  Wheeled,  And Made For

The Water Hole.  The Lynx Sprang From His Ambush,  Seized The

Beaver By The Back,  And Held On; But The Beaver Was Double The

Lynx's Weight,  The Bank Was Steep And Slippery,  The Struggling

Animals Kept Rolling Down Hill,  Nearer And Nearer The Hole.

Then,  On The Very Edge,  The Beaver Gave A Great Plunge,  And

Splashed Into The Water With The Lynx Clinging To Its Back. At

Once They Disappeared,  And The Hunters Rushed To The Place,

Expecting Them To Float Up And Be An Easy Prey; But They Did Not

Float.  At Length It Was Clear That The Pair Had Gone Under The

Ice,  For In Water The Beaver Was Master.

 

After Five Minutes It Was Certain That The Lynx Must Be Dead.

Quonab Cut A Sapling And Made A Grappler.  He Poked This Way And

That Way Under The Ice,  Until At Length He Felt Something Soft.

With The Hatchet They Cut A Hole Over The Place And Then Dragged

Out The Body Of The Lynx. The Beaver,  Of Course,  Escaped And Was

Probably Little The Worse.

 

While Quonab Skinned The Catch,  Rolf Prowled Around The Pond And

Soon Came Running Back To Tell Of A Remarkable Happening.

 

At Another Open Hole A Beaver Had Come Out,  Wandered Twenty Yards

To A Mound Which He Had Castorized,  Then Passed Several Hard Wood

Trees To Find A Large Poplar Or Aspen,  The Favourite Food Tree.

This He Had Begun To Fell With Considerable Skill,  But For Some

Strange Reason,  Perhaps Because Alone,  He Had Made A

Miscalculation,  And When The Tree Came Crashing Down,  It Had

Fallen Across His Back,  Killed Him,  And Pinned Him To The Ground.

 

It Was An Easy Matter For The Hunters To Remove The Log And

Secure His Pelt,  So They Left The Beaver Pond,  Richer Than They

Had Expected.

 

Next Night,  When They Reached Their Half-Way Shanty,  They Had The

Best Haul They Had Taken On This Line Since The Memorable Day

Wben They Got Six Beavers.

 

The Morning Dawned Clear And Bright.  As They Breakfasted,   They

Noticed An Extraordinary Gathering Of Ravens Far Away To The

North,  Beyond Any Country They Had Visited.  At Least Twenty Or

Thirty Of The Birds Were Sailing  In Great Circles High Above A

Certain Place,  Uttering A Deep,  Sonorous Croak,  From Time To

Time.  Occasionally One Of The Ravens Would Dive Down Out Of Sight.

 

"Why Do They Fly Above That Way?"

 

"That Is To Let Other Ravens Know There Is Food Here. Their Eyes

Are Very Good.  They Can See The Signal Ten Miles Away,  So All

Come To The Place.  My Father Told Me That You Can Gather All The

Ravens For Twenty Miles By Leaving A Carcass So They Can See It

And Signal Each Other.  "

 

"Seems As If We Should Look Into That.  Maybe Another Panther,"

Was Rolf's Remark.

 

The Indian Nodded; So Leaving The Bundle Of Furs In A Safe Place

With The Snowshoes,  That They Carried On A Chance,  They Set Out

Over The Hard Crust.  It Was Two Or Three Miles To The Ravens'

Gathering,  And,  As Before,  It Proved To Be Over A Cedar Brake

Where Was A Deer Yard.

 

Skookum Knew All About It.  He Rushed Into The Woods,  Filled With

The Joy Of Martial Glory.  But Speedily Came Running Out Again As

Hard As He Could,  Yelling "Yow,  Yow,  Yowl" For Help,  While

Swiftly Following,  Behind Him Were A Couple Of Gray Wolves.

Quonab Waited Till They Were Within Forty Yards; Then,  Seeing The

Men,  The Wolves Slowed Up And Veered; Quonab Fired; One Of The

Wolves Gave A Little,  Doglike Yelp.  Then They Leaped Into The

Bushes And Were Lost To View.

 

A Careful Study Of The Snow Showed One Or Two Triffing Traces Of

Blood.  In The Deer Yard They Found At Least A Dozen Carcasses Of

Deer Killed By The Wolves,  But None Very Recent.  They Saw But

Few Deer And Nothing More Of The Wolves,  For The Crust Had Made

All The Country Easy,  And Both Kinds Fled Before The Hunters.

 

Exploring A Lower Level Of Willow Country In Hopes Of Finding

Beaver Delayed Them,  And It Was Afternoon When They Returned To

The Half-Way Shanty,  To Find Everything As They Left It,  Except

That Their Pack Of Furs Had Totally  Disappeared.

 

Of Course,  The Hard Crust Gave No Sign Of Track.  Their First

Thought Was Of The Old Enemy,  But,  Seeking Far And Near For

Evidence,  They Found Pieces Of An Ermine Skin,  And