Rolf In The Woods

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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 a quarter mile
farther, the rest of it, then, at another place, fragments of a
muskrat's skin. Those made it look like the work of the
trapper's enemy, the wolverine, which, though rare, was surely
found in these hills. Yes! there was a wolverine scratch mark,
and here another piece of the rat skin. It was very clear who
was the thief.

"He tore up the cheapest ones of the lot anyway," said Rolf.

Then the trappers stared at each other significantly -- only the
cheap ones destroyed; why should a wolverine show such
discrimination? There was no positive sign of wolverine; in
fact, the icy snow gave no sign of anything. There was little
doubt that the tom furs and the scratch marks were there to
mislead; that this was the work of a human robber, almost
certainly Hoag.

He had doubtless seen them leave in the morning, and it was
equally sure, since he had had hours of start, he would now be
far away.

"Ugh! Give him few days to think he safe, then I follow and
settle all," and this time the Indian clearly meant to end the
matter.

The Subjugation of Hoag

A feller as weeps for pity and never does a finger-tap to help
is 'bout as much use as an overcoat on a drowning man. -- Sayings
of Si Sylvanne.

SOME remarkable changes of weather made some remarkable changes
in their plan and saved their enemy from immediate molestation.
For two weeks it was a succession of thaws and there was much
rain. The lake was covered with six inches of water; the river
had a current above the ice, that was rapidly eating, the latter
away. Everywhere there were slush and wet snow that put an end
to travel and brought on the spring with a rush.

Each night there was, indeed, a trifling frost, but each day's
sun seemed stronger, and broad, bare patches of ground appeared
on all sunny slopes.

On the first crisp day the trappers set out to go the rounds,
knowing full well that this was the end of the season.
Henceforth for six months deadfall and snare would lie idle and
unset.

They went their accustomed line, carrying their snowshoes, but
rarely needing them. Then they crossed a large track to which
Quonab pointed, and grunted affirmatively as Rolf said "Bear?"
Yes! the bears were about once more; their winter sleep was over.
Now they were fat and the fur was yet prime; in a month they
would be thin and shedding. Now is the time for bear hunting
with either trap or dog.

Doubtless Skookum thought the party most fortunately equipped in
the latter respect, but no single dog is enough to bay a bear.
There must be three or four to bother him behind, to make him
face about and fight; one dog merely makes him run faster.

They had no traps, and knowing that a spring bear is a far
traveller, they made no attempt to follow.

The deadfalls yielded two martens, but one of them was spoiled by
the warm weather. They learned at last that the enemy had a
trap-line, for part of which he used their deadfalls. He had
been the rounds lately and had profited at least a little by
their labours.

The track, though two days old, was not hard to follow, either on
snow or ground. Quonab looked to the lock of his gun; his lower
lip tightened and he strode along.

"What are you going to do, Quonab? Not shoot?"

"When I get near enough," and the dangerous look in the red man's
eye told Rolf to be quiet and follow.

In three miles they passed but three of his marten traps -- very
lazy trapping -- and then found a great triangle of logs by a
tree with a bait and signs enough to tell the experienced eye
that, in that corner, was hidden a huge steel trap for bear.

They were almost too late in restraining the knowledge- hunger of
Skookum. They went on a mile or two and realized in so doing
that, however poor a trapper the enemy might be, he was a good
tramper and knew the country.

At sundown they came to their half-way shelter and put up there
for the night. Once when Rolf went out to glimpse the skies
before turning in, he heard a far tree creaking and wondered, for
it was dead calm. Even Skookum noticed it. But it was not
repeated. Next morning they went on.

There are many quaint sounds in the woods at all times, the
rasping of trees, at least a dozen different calls by jays, twice
as many by ravens, and occasional notes from chicadees, grouse,
and owls. The quadrupeds in general are more silent, but the red
squirrel is ever about and noisy, as well as busy.

Far-reaching sounds are these echoes of the woods -- some of them
very far. Probably there were not five minutes of the day or
night when some weird, woodland chatter, scrape, crack, screech,
or whistle did not reach the keen ears of that ever-alert dog.
That is, three hundred times a day his outer ear submitted to his
inner ear some report of things a-doing, which same report was
as often for many days disregarded as of no interest or value.
But this did not mean that he missed anything; the steady tramp,
tramp of their feet, while it dulled all sounds for the hunter,
seemed to have no effect on Skookum. Again the raspy squeal of
some far tree reached his inmost brain, and his hair rose as he
stopped and gave a low "woof."

The hunters held still; the wise ones always do, when a dog says
"Stop!" They waited. After a few minutes it came again -- merely
the long-drawn creak of a tree bough, wind-rubbed on its
neighbour.

And yet, "Woof, woof, woof," said Skookum, and ran ahead.

"Come back, you little fool!" cried Rolf.

But Skookum had a mind of his own. He trotted ahead, then
stopped, paused, and sniffed at something in the snow. The
Indian picked it up. It was the pocket jackscrew that every
bear trapper carries to set the powerful trap, and without which,
indeed, one man cannot manage the springs.

He held it up with "Ugh! Hoag in trouble now." Clearly the rival
trapper had lost this necessary tool.

But the finding was an accident. Skookum pushed on. They came
along a draw to a little hollow. The dog, far forward, began
barking and angrily baying at something. The men hurried to the
scene to find on the snow, fast held in one of those devilish
engines called a bear trap -- the body of their enemy -- Hoag,
the trapper, held by a leg, and a hand in the gin he himself had
been setting.

A fierce light played on the Indian's face. Rolf was stricken
with horror. But even while they contemplated the body, the
faint cry was heard again coming from it.

"He's alive; hurry!" cried Rolf. The Indian did not hurry, but he came.
He had vowed vengeance at sight; why should he haste to help?

The implacable iron jaws had clutched the trapper by one knee and
the right hand. The first thing was to free him. How? No man
has power enough to force that spring. But the jackscrew!

"Quonab, help him! For God's sake, come!" cried Rolf in agony,
forgetting their feud and seeing only tortured, dying man.

The Indian gazed a moment, then rose quickly, and put on the
jackscrew. Under his deft fingers the first spring went down,
but what about the other? They had no other screw. The long
buckskin line they always carried was quickly lashed round and
round the down spring to hold it. Then the screw was removed and
put on the other spring; it bent, and the jaws hung loose. The
Indian forced them wide open, drew out the mangled limbs, a the
trapper was free, but so near death, it seemed they were too
late.

Rolf spread his coat. The Indian made a fire. In fifteen
minutes they were pouring hot tea between victim's lips. Even as
they did, his feeble throat gave out again the long, low moan.

The weather was mild now. The prisoner was not actually frozen,
but numbed and racked. Heat, hot tea, kindly rubbing, and he
revived a little.

At first they thought him dying, but in an hour recovered enough
to talk. In feeble accents and broken phrases they learned the
tale:

"Yest -- m-m-m. Yesterday -- no; two or three days back --
m-m-m-m-m -- I dunno; I was a goin' -- roun' me traps -- me bear
traps. Didn't have no luck m-m-m (yes, I'd like another sip; ye
ain't got no whiskey no?) m-m-m. Nothing in any trap, and when I
come to this un -- oh-h - m-m; I seen - the bait was stole by
birds, an' the pan -- m-m-m; an' the pan, m-m-m - (yes, that's
better) -- an' the pan laid bare. So I starts to cover it with
-- ce-ce-dar; the ony thing I c'd get -- m-m-m-w- -- wuz leanin'
over -- to fix tother side -- me foot slipped on -- the -- ice --
ev'rytbing was icy -- an'-- m-m-m-m -- I lost -- me balance -- me
knee the pan -- O Lord -- how I suffer! -- m-m-m it grabbed me --
knee an'-- h-h-hand -" His voice died to a whisper and ceased;
he seemed sinking.

Quonab got up to hold him. Then, looking at Rolf, Indian shook
his head as though to say all was over; the poor wretch had a
woodman's constitution, and in spite of a mangled, dying body, he
revived again. They gave him more hot tea, and again he began in
a whisper:

"I hed one arm free an' -- an' -- an' -- I might -- a -- got out
-- m-m -- but I hed no wrench -- I lost it some place -- m-m-m-m.

"Then -- I yelled -- I dun -- no - maybe some un might hear -- it
kin-kin-kinder eased me -- to yell m-m-m.

"Say -- make that yer dog keep -- away -- will yer I dunno -- it
seems like a week -- must a fainted some M-m-m -- I yelled --
when I could."

There was a long pause. Rolf said, "Seems to me I heard you last
night, when we were up there. And dog heard you, too. Do you
want me to move that leg around?"

"M-m-m -- yeh -- that's better -- say, you air white -- ain't ye?
Ye won't leave me -- cos -- I done some mean things -- m-m-m. Ye
won't, will ye?"

"No, you needn't worry -- we'll stay by ye."

Then he muttered, they could not tell what. He closed his eyes.
After long silence he looked around wildly and began again:

"Say -- I done you dirt -- but don't leave me -- don't leave me."
Tears ran down his face and he moaned piteously. "I'll -- make
it -- right -- you're white, ain't ye?"

Quonab rose and went for more firewood. The trapper whispered,
"I'm scared o' him -- now -- he'll do me -- say, I'm jest a poor
ole man. If I do live -- through -- this -- m-m-m-m -- I'll
never walk again. I'm crippled sure."

It was long before he resumed. Then he began: "Say, what day is
it -- Friday! -- I must -- been two days in there -- m-m-m -- I
reckoned it was a week. When -- the -- dog came I thought it was
wolves. Oh -- ah, didn't care much -- m-m-m. Say, ye won't
leave me -- coz -- coz -- I treated -- ye mean. I -- ain't had
no l-l-luck." He went off into a stupor, but presently let out a
long, startling cry, the same as that they had heard in the
night. The dog growled; the men stared. The wretch's eyes were
rolling again. He seemed delirious.

Quonab pointed to the east, made the sun-up sign, and shook his
head at the victim. And Rolf understood it to mean that he would
never see the sunrise. But they were wrong.

The long night passed in a struggle between heath and the tough
make-up of a mountaineer. The waiting light of dawn saw death
defeated, retiring from the scene. As the sun rose high, the
victim seemed to gain considerably in strength. There was no
immediate danger of an end.

Rolf said to Quonab: "Where shall we take him? Guess you better
go home for the toboggan, and we'll fetch him to the shanty."

But the invalid was able to take part in the conversation. "Say,
don't take me there. Ah -- want to go home. 'Pears like -- I'd
be better at home. My folks is out Moose River way. I'd never
get out if I went in there," and by "there" he seemed to mean the
Indian's lake, and glanced furtively at the unchanging
countenance of the red man.

"Have you a toboggan at your shanty?" asked Rolf.

"Yes -- good enough -- it's on the roof -- say," and he beckoned
feebly to Rolf, "let him go after it -- don't leave me -- he'll
kill me," and he wept feebly in his self pity.

So Quonab started down the mountain - a sinewy man -- a striding
form, a speck in the melting distance.
Nursing Hoag

IN TWO hours the red man reached the trapper's shanty, and at
once, without hesitation or delicacy, set about a thorough
examination of its contents. Of course there was the toboggan on
the roof, and in fairly good condition for such a shiftless
owner.

There were bunches of furs hanging from the rafters, but not
many, for fur taking is hard work; and Quonab, looking
suspiciously over them, was 'not surprised to see the lynx skin
he had lost, easily known by the absence of wound and the fur
still in points as it had dried from the wetting. In another
bundle, he discovered the beaver that had killed itself, for
there was the dark band across its back.

The martens he could not be sure of, but he had a strong
suspicion that most of this fur came out of his own traps.

He tied Hoag's blankets on the toboggan, and hastened back to
where he left the two on the mountain.

Skookum met him long before he was near. Skookum did not enjoy
Hoag's company.

The cripple had been talking freely to Rolf, but the arrival of
the Indian seemed to suppress him.

With the wounded man on the toboggan, they set out, The ground
was bare in many places, so that the going was hard; but,
fortunately, it was all down hill, and four hours' toil brought
them to the cabin.

They put the sick man in his bunk, then Rolf set about preparing
a meal, while Quonab cut wood.

After the usual tea, bacon, and flour cakes, all were feeling
refreshed. Hoag seemed much more like himself. He talked freely,
almost cheerfully, while Quonab, with Skookum at his feet, sat
silently smoking and staring into the fire.

After a long silence, the Indian turned, looked straight at the
trapper, and, pointing with his pipestem to the furs, said, "How
many is ours?"

Hoag looked scared, then sulky, and said; "I dunno what ye mean.
I'm a awful sick man. You get me out to Lyons Falls all right,
and ye can have the hull lot," and he wept.

Rolf shook his head at Quonab, then turned to the sufferer and
said: "Don't you worry; we'll get you out all right. Have you a
good canoe?"

"Pretty fair; needs a little fixing."

The night passed with one or two breaks, when the invalid asked
for a drink of water. In the morning he was evidently
recovering, and they began to plan for the future.

He took the first chance of wispering to Rolf, "Can't you send
him away? I'll be all right with you." Rolf said nothing.

"Say," he continued, "say, young feller, what's yer name?"

"Rolf Kittering."

"Say, Rolf, you wait a week or ten days, and the ice 'll be out;
then I'll be fit to travel. There ain't on'y a few carries
between here an' Lyons Falls."

After a long pause, due to Quonab's entry, he continued again:
"Moose River's good canoeing; ye can get me out in five days; me
folks is at Lyons Falls." He did not say that his folks
consisted of a wife and boy that he neglected, but whom he
counted on to nurse him now.

Rolf was puzzled by the situation.

"Say! I'll give ye all them furs if ye git me out." Rolf gave
him a curious look -- as much as to say, "Ye mean our furs."

Again the conversation was ended by the entry of Quonab.

Rolf stepped out, taking the Indian with him. They had a long
talk, then, as Rolf reentered, the sick man began:

"You stay by me, and git me out. I'll give ye my rifle" -- then,
after a short silence -- "an' I'll throw in all the traps an' the
canoe."

"I'll stay by you," said Rolf, "and in about two weeks we'll take
you down to Lyons Falls. I guess you can guide us."

"Ye can have all them pelts," and again the trapper presented the
spoils he had stolen, "an' you bet it's your rifle when ye get me out."

So it was arranged. But it was necessary for Quonab to go back
to their own cabin. Now what should he do? Carry the new lot of
fur there, or bring the old lot here to dispose of all at Lyons Falls?

Rolf had been thinking hard. He had seen the evil side of many
men, including Hoag. To go among Hoag's people with a lot of
stuff that Hoag might claim was running risks, so he said:

"Quonab, you come back in not more than ten days. We'll take a
few furs to Lyons Falls so we can get supplies. Leave the rest of
them in good shape, so we can go out later to Warren's. We'll
get a square deal there, and we don't know what at Lyon's."

So they picked out the lynx, the beaver, and a dozen martens to
leave, and making the rest into a pack, Quonab shouldered them,
and followed by Skookum, trudged up the mountain and was lost to
view in the woods.

The ten days went by very slowly. Hoag was alternately
querulous, weeping, complaining, unpleasantly fawning, or trying
to insure good attention by presenting again and again the furs,
the gun, and the canoe.

Rolf found it pleasant to get away from the cabin when the
weather was fine. One day, taking Hoag's gun, he travelled up
the nearest stream for a mile, and came on a big beaver pond.
Round this he scouted and soon discovered a drowned beaver, held
in a trap which he recog- nized at once, for it had the (" ' "')
mark on the frame. Then he found an empty trap with a beaver leg
in it, and another, till six traps were found. Then he gathered
up the six and the beaver, and returned to the cabin to be
greeted with a string of complaints:

"Ye didn't ought to leave me like this. I'm paying ye well
enough. I don't ax no favours," etc.

"See what I got," and Rolf showed the beaver. "An' see what I
found;" then he showed the traps. "Queer, ain't it," he went on,
"we had six traps just like them, and I marked the face just like
these, and they all disappeared, and there was a snowshoe trail
pointing this way. You haven't got any crooked neighbours about
here, have you?"

The trapper looked sulky and puzzled, and grumbled, "I bet it was
Bill Hawkins done it"; then relapsed into silence.

Hoag's Home-coming

When it comes to personal feelin's better let yer friends do the
talkin' and jedgin'. A man can't handle his own case any more
than a delirious doctor kin give hisself the right physic --
Sayings of Si Sylvanne.

The coming of springtime in the woods is one of the gentlest,
sweetest advents in the world. Sometimes there are heavy rains
which fill all the little rivers with an overflood that quickly
eats away the ice and snow, but usually the woodland streams
open, slowly and gradually. Very rarely is there a spate, an
upheaval, and a cataclysmal sweep that bursts the ice and ends
its reign in an hour or two. That is the way of the large
rivers, whose ice is free and floating. The snow in the forest
melts slowly, and when the ice is attacked, it goes gradually,
gently, without uproar. The spring comes in the woods with
swelling of buds and a lengthening of drooping catkins, with
honking of wild geese, and cawing of crows coming up from the
lower countries to divide with their larger cousins, the ravens,
the spoils of winter's killing.

The small birds from the South appear with a few short notes of
spring, and the pert chicadees that have braved it all winter,
now lead the singing with their cheery "I told you so" notes,
till robins and blackbirds join in, and with their more ambitious
singing make all the lesser roundelays forgot.

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