Rolf In The Woods

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One day, the first after the completion of Van Cortlandt's cabin,
as the two approached, the owner opened the door and stood aside
for Rolf to enter.

"Go ahead," said Rolf.

"After you," was the polite reply.

"Oh, go on," rejoined the lad, in mixed amusement and impatience.

Van Cortlandt touched his hat and went in.

Inside, Rolf turned squarely and said: "The other day you said
there was a reason for all kinds o' social tricks; now will you
tell me what the dickens is the why of all these funny- do's? It
'pears to me a free-born American didn't ought to take off his
hat to any one but God."

Van Cortlandt chuckled softly and said: "You may be very sure
that everything that is done in the way of social usage is the
result of common-sense, with the exception of one or two things
that have continued after the reason for them has passed, like
the buttons you have behind on your coat; they were put there
originally to button the tails out of the way of your sword.
Sword wearing and using have passed away, but still you see the
buttons.

"As to taking off your hat to no man: it depends entirely on what
you mean by it; and, being a social custom, you must accept its
social meaning.

"In the days of knight errantry, every one meeting a stranger had
to suppose him an enemy; ten to one he was. And the sign and
proof of friendly intention was raising the right hand without a
weapon in it. The hand was raised high, to be seen as far as they
could shoot with a bow, and a further proof was added when they
raised the vizor and exposed the face. The danger of the highway
continued long after knights ceased to wear armour; so, with the
same meaning, the same gesture was used, but with a lifting of
the hat. If a man did not do it, he was either showing contempt,
or hostility for the other, or proving himself an ignorant brute.
So, in all civilized countries, lifting the hat is a sign of
mutual confidence and respect."

"Well! that makes it all look different. But why should you touch
your hat when you went ahead of me just now?"

"Because this is my house; you are my guest. I am supposed to
serve you in reasonable ways and give you precedence. Had I let
you open my door for me, it would have been putting you in the
place of my servant; to balance that, I give you the sign of
equality and respect."

"H'm," said Rolf, "'it just shows,' as old Sylvanne sez, 'this
yer steel-trap, hair-trigger, cocksure jedgment don't do. An' the
more a man learns, the less sure he gits. An' things as hez
lasted a long time ain't liable to be on a rotten foundation.'"

The Charm of Song

With a regular tum ta tum ta, came a weird sound from the sunrise
rock one morning, as Van slipped out of his cabin.

"Ag-aj-way-o-say
Pem-o-say
Gezhik-om era-bid ah-keen
Ena-bid ah-keen"

"What's he doing, Rolf?"

"That's his sunrise prayer," was the answer.

"Do you know what it means?"

"Yes, it ain't much; jest 'Oh, thou that walkest in the sky in
the morning, I greet thee."'

"Why, I didn't know Indians had such performances; that's exactly
like the priests of Osiris. Did any one teach him? I mean any
white folk."

"No, it's always been the Indian way. They have a song or a
prayer for most every big event, sunrise, sunset, moonrise, good
hunting, and another for when they're sick, or when they're going
on a journey, or when their heart is bad."

"You astonish me. I had no idea they were so human. It carries me
back to the temple of Delphi. It is worthy of Cassandra of Ilion.
I supposed all Indians were just savage Indians that hunted till
their bellies were full, and slept till they were empty again."

"H'm," rejoined Rolf, with a gentle laugh. "I see you also have
been doing some 'hair-trigger, steel-trap, cocksure jedgin'.'"

"I wonder if he'd like to hear some of my songs? "

"It's worth trying; anyway, I would," said Rolf.

That night, by the fire, Van sang the "Gay Cavalier," "The
Hunting of John Peel," and "Bonnie Dundee." He had a fine
baritone voice. He was most acceptable in the musical circles of
Albany. Rolf was delighted, Skookum moaned sympathetically, and
Quonab sat nor moved till the music was over. He said nothing,
but Rolf felt that it was a point gained, and, trying to follow
it up, said:

"Here's your drum, Quonab; won't you sing 'The Song of the
Wabanaki?'" But it was not well timed, and the Indian shook his
head.

"Say, Van," said Rolf, (Van Cortlandt had suggested this
abbreviation) "you'll never stand right with Quonab till you kill
a deer."

"I've done some trying."

"Well, now, we'll go out to-morrow evening and try once more.
What do you think of the weather, Quonab? "

"Storm begin noon and last three days," was the brief answer, as
the red man walked away.

"That settles it," said Rolf; "we wait."

Van was surprised, and all the more so when in an hour the sky
grew black and heavy rain set in, with squalls.

"How in the name of Belshazzar's weather bugler does he tell?"

"I guess you better not ask him, if you want to know. I'll find
out and tell you later."

Rolf learned, not easily or at single talk:

"Yesterday the chipmunks worked hard; to-day there are none to be
seen.

"Yesterday the loons were wailing; now they are still, and no
small birds are about.

"Yesterday it was a yellow sunrise; to-day a rosy dawn.

"Last night the moon changed and had a thick little ring.

"It has not rained for ten days, and this is the third day of
easterly winds.

"There was no dew last night. I saw Tongue Mountain at daybreak;
my tom-tom will not sing.

"The smoke went three ways at dawn, and Skookum's nose was hot."

So they rested, not knowing, but forced to believe, and it was
not till the third day that the sky broke; the west wind began to
pay back its borrowings from the east, and the saying was proved
that "three days' rain will empty any sky."

That evening, after their meal, Rolf and Van launched the canoe
and paddled down the lake. A mile from camp they landed, for this
was a favourite deer run. Very soon Rolf pointed to the ground.
He had found a perfectly fresh track, but Van seemed not to
comprehend. They went along it, Rolf softly and silently, Van
with his long feet and legs making a dangerous amount of clatter.
Rolf turned and whispered, "That won't do. You must not stand on
dry sticks." Van endeavoured to move more cautiously and thought
he was doing well, but Rolf found it very trying to his patience
and began to understand how Quonab had felt about himself a year
ago. "See," said Rolf, "lift your legs so; don't turn your feet
out that way. Look at the place before you put it down again;
feel with your toe to make sure there is no dead stick, then
wriggle it down to the solid ground. Of course, you'd do better
in moccasins. Never brush past any branches; lift them aside and
don't let them scratch; ease them back to the place; never try to
bend a dry branch; go around it," etc. Van had not thought of
these things, but now he grasped them quickly, and they made a
wonderful improvement in his way of going.

They came again to the water's edge; across a little bay Rolf
sighted at once the form of a buck, perfectly still, gazing their
way, wondering, no doubt, what made those noises.

"Here's your chance," he whispered.

"Where?" was the eager query.

"There; see that gray and white thing?"

"I can't see him."

For five minutes Rolf tried in vain to make his friend see that
statuesque form; for five minutes it never moved. Then, sensing
danger, the buck gave a bound and was lost to view.

It was disheartening. Rolf sat down, nearly disgusted; then one
of Sylvanne's remarks came to him: "It don't prove any one a
fool, coz he can't play your game."

Presently Rolf said, "Van, hev ye a book with ye?"

"Yes, I have my Virgil."

"Read me the first page."

Van read it, holding the book six inches from his nose.

"Let's see ye read this page there," and Rolf held it up four
feet away.

"I can't; it's nothing but a dim white spot."

"Well, can ye see that loon out there?"

"You mean that long, dark thing in the bay? "

"No, that's a pine log close to," said Rolf, with a laugh, "away
out half a mile."

"No, I can't see anything but shimmers."

"I thought so. It's no use your trying to shoot deer till ye get
a pair of specs to fit yer eyes. You have brains enough, but you
haven't got the eyesight of a hunter. You stay here till I go see
if I have any luck."

Rolf melted into the woods. In twenty minutes Van heard a shot
and very soon Rolf reappeared, carrying a two-year- old buck, and
they returned to their camp by nightfall. Quonab glanced at their
faces as they passed carrying the little buck. They tried to look
inscrutable. But the Indian was not deceived. He gave out nothing
but a sizzling " Humph!"
The Redemption of Van

WHEN things is looking black as black can be, it's a sure sign of
luck coming your way." so said Si Sylvanne, and so it proved to
Van Cortlandt The Moon of the Falling Leaves was waning, October
was nearly over, the day of his return to Albany was near, as he
was to go out in time for the hunters to return in open water. He
was wonderfully improved in strength and looks. His face was
brown and ruddy. He had abandoned all drugs, and had gained fully
twenty pounds in weight. He had learned to make a fire, paddle a
canoe, and go through the woods in semi-silence. His scholarly
talk had given him large place in Rolf's esteem, and his sweet
singing had furnished a tiny little shelf for a modicum of
Quonab's respect. But his attempts to get a deer were failures.
"You come back next year with proper, farsight glasses and you'll
all right," said Rolf; and that seemed the one ray of hope.

The three days' storm had thrown so many trees that the hunters
decided it would be worth while making a fast trip down to
Eagle's Nest, to cut such timber as might have fallen across the
stream, and so make an easy way for when they should have less time.

The surmise was quite right. Much new-fallen timber was now
across the channel. They chopped over twenty-five trunks before
they reached Eagle's Nest at noon, and, leaving the river in
better shape than ever it was, they turned, for the swift,
straight, silent run of ten miles home.

As they rounded the last point, a huge black form in the water
loomed to view. Skookum's bristles rose. Quonab whispered, "
Moose! Shoot quick!" Van was the only one with a gun. The great
black beast stood for a moment, gazing at them with wide-open
eyes, ears, and nostrils, then shook his broad horns, wheeled,
and dashed for the shore. Van fired and the bull went down with a
mighty splash among the lilies. Rolf and Skookum let off a
succession of most unhunterlike yells of triumph. But the giant
sprang up again and reached the shore, only to fall to Van
Cortlandt's second barrel. Yet the stop was momentary; he rose
and dashed into the cover. Quonab turned the canoe at once and
made for the land.

A great sob came from the bushes, then others at intervals.
Quonab showed his teeth and pointed. Rolf seized his rifle,
Skookum sprang from the boat, and a little later was heard
letting off his war-cry in the bushes not far away.

The men rushed forward, guns in hand, but Quonab called, "Look
out! Maybe he waiting."

"If he is, he'll likely get one of us." said Rolf, with a light
laugh, for he had some hearsay knowledge of moose.

Covered each by a tree, they waited till Van had reloaded his
double-barrelled, then cautiously approached. The great frothing
sobs had resounded from time to time.

Skookum's voice also was heard in the thicket, and when they
neared and glimpsed the place, it was to see the monster on the
ground, lying at full length, dinging up his head at times when
he uttered that horrid sound of pain.

The Indian sent a bullet through the moose's brain; then all was
still, the tragedy was over.

But now their attention was turned to Van Cortlandt. He reeled,
staggered, his knees trembled, his face turned white, and, to
save himself from falling, he sank onto a log. Here he covered
his face with his hands, his feet beat the ground, and his
shoulders heaved up and down.

The others said nothing. They knew by the signs and the sounds
that it was only through a mighty effort that young Van
Cortlandt, grown man as he was, could keep himself from
hysterical sobs and tears.

Not then, but the next day it was that Quonab said: "It comes to
some after they kill, to some before, as it came to you, Rolf; to
me it came the day I killed my first chipmunk, that time when I
stole my father's medicine."

They had ample work for several hours now, to skin the game and
save the meat. It was fortunate they were so near home. A
marvellous change there was in the atmosphere of the camp. Twice
Quonab spoke to Van Cortlandt, as the latter laboured with them
to save and store the meat of his moose. He was rubbed, doped,
soiled, and anointed with its flesh, hair, and blood, and that
night, as they sat by their camp fire, Skookum arose, stretched,
yawned, walked around deliberately, put his nose in the lawyer's
hand. gave it a lick, then lay down by his feet. Van Cortlandt
glanced at Rolf, a merry twinkle was in the eyes of both. "It's
all right. You can pat Skookum now, without risk of being
crippled. He's sized you up. You are one of us at last;" and
Quonab looked on with two long ivory rows a-gleaming in his
smile.

Dinner at the Governor's

Was ever there a brighter blazing sunrise after such a night of
gloom? Not only a deer, but the biggest of all deer, and Van
himself the only one of the party that had ever killed a moose.
The skin was removed and afterward made into a hunting coat for
the victor. The head and horns were carefully preserved to be
carried back to Albany, where they were mounted and still hang in
the hall of a later generation of the name. The final days at the
camp were days of happy feeling; they passed too soon, and the
long-legged lawyer, bronzed and healthy looking, took his place
in their canoe for the flying trip to Albany. With an empty canoe
and three paddles (two and one half, Van said), they flew down
the open stretch of Jesup's River in something over two hours and
camped that night fully thirty-five miles from their cabin. The
next day they nearly reached the Schroon and in a week they
rounded the great bend, and Albany hove in view.

How Van's heart did beat! How he did exult to come in triumph
home, reestablished in health and strengthened in every way.
They were sighted and recognized. Messengers were seen running;
a heavy gun was fired, the flag run up on the Capitol, bells set
a-ringing, many people came running, and more flags ran up on vessels.

A great crowd gathered by the dock.

"There's father, and mother too!" shouted Van, waving his hat.

"Hurrah," and the crowd took it up, while the bells went jingle,
jangle, and Skookum in the bow sent back his best in answer.

The canoe was dragged ashore. Van seized his mother in his arms,
as she cried: "My boy, my boy, my darling boy! how well you look.
Oh, why didn't you write? But, thank God, you are back again, and
looking so healthy and strong. I know you took your squills and
opodeldoc. Thank God for that! Oh, I'm so happy! my boy, my boy!
There's nothing like squills and God's blessing."

Rolf and Quonab were made to feel that they had a part in it all.
The governor shook them warmly by the hand, and then a friendly
voice was heard: "Wall, boy, here ye air agin; growed a little,
settin' up and sassin' back, same as ever." Rolf turned to see
the gigantic, angular form and kindly face of grizzly old Si
Sylvanne and was still more surprised to hear him addressed
"senator."

"Yes," said the senator, "one o' them freak elections that
sometimes hits right; great luck for Albany, wa'nt it?"

"Ho," said Quonab, shaking the senator's hand, while Skookum
looked puzzled and depressed.

"Now, remember," said the governor, addressing the Indian, the
lad, and the senator, "we expect you to dine tonight at the
mansion; seven o'clock."

Then the terror of the dragon conventionality, that guards the
gate and hovers over the feast, loomed up in Rolf's imagination.
He sought a private word with Van. "I'm afraid I have no fit
clothes; I shan't know how to behave," he said.

"Then I'll show you. The first thing is to be perfectly clean and
get a shave; put on the best clothes you have, and be sure
they're clean; then you come at exactly seven o'clock, knowing
that every one is going to be kind to you and you're bound to
have a good time. As to any other 'funny-do' you watch me, and
you'll have no trouble."

So when the seven o'clock assemblage came, and guests were
ascending the steps of the governor's mansion, there also mounted
a tall, slim youth, an easy-pacing Indian, and a prick-eared,
yellow dog. Young Van Cortlandt was near the door, on watch to
save them any embarrassment. But what a swell he looked,
cleanshaven, ruddy, tall, and handsome in the uniform of an
American captain, surrounded by friends and immensely popular.
How different it all was from that lonely cabin by the lake.

A butler who tried to remove Skookum was saved from mutilation by
the intervention first of Quonab and next of Van; and when they
sat down, this uncompromising four- legged child of the forest
ensconced himself under Quonab's chair and growled whenever the
silk stockings of the footman seemed to approach beyond the line
of true respect.

Young Van Cortlandt was chief talker at the dinner, but a pompous
military man was prominent in the company. Once or twice Rolf was
addressed by the governor or Lady Van Cortlandt, and had to speak
to the whole table; his cheeks were crimson, but he knew what he
wanted to say and stopped when it was said, so suffered no real
embarrassment.

After what seemed an interminable feast of countless dishes and
hours' duration, an extraordinary change set in. Led by the
hostess, all stood up, the chairs were lifted out of their way,
and the ladies trooped into another room; the doors were closed,
and the men sat down again at the end next the governor.

Van stayed by Rolf and explained: "This is another social custom
that began with a different meaning. One hundred years ago, every
man got drunk at every formal dinner, and carried on in a way
that the ladies did not care to see, so to save their own
feelings and give the men a free rein, the ladies withdrew.
Nowadays, men are not supposed to indulge in any such orgy, but
the custom continues, because it gives the men a chance to smoke,
and the ladies a chance to discuss matters that do not interest
the men. So again you see it is backed by common sense."

This proved the best part of the dinner to Rolf. There was a
peculiar sense of over-politeness, of insincerity, almost, while
the ladies were present; the most of the talking had been done by
young Van Cortlandt and certain young ladies, assisted by some
very gay young men and the general. Their chatter was funny, but
nothing more. Now a different air was on the group; different
subjects were discussed, and by different men, in a totally
different manner.

"We've stood just about all we can stand," said the governor,
alluding to an incident newly told, of a British frigate boarding
an American merchant vessel by force and carrying off half her
crew, under presence that they were British seamen in disguise.
"That's been going on for three years now. It's either piracy or
war, and, in either case, it's our duty to fight."

"Jersey's dead against war," said a legislator from down the river.

"Jersey always was dead against everything that was for the
national good, sir," said a red-faced, puffy, military man, with
a husky voice, a rolling eye, and a way of ending every sentence
in "sir."

"So is Connecticut," said another; "they say, 'Look at all our
defenceless coasts and harbour towns.'"

"They're not risking as much as New York," answered the
governor," with her harbours all the way up the Hudson and her
back door open to invasion from Canada."

"Fortunately, sir, Pennyslvania, Maryland, and the West have not
forgotten the glories of the past. All I ask -- is a chance to
show what we can do, sir. I long for the smell of powder once
more, sir."

"I understand that President Madison has sent several protests,
and, in spite of Connecticut and New Jersey, will send an
ultimatum within three months. He believes that Britain has all
she can manage, with Napoleon and his allies battering at her
doors, and will not risk a war.

"It's my opinion," said Sylvanne; "that these English men is too
pig-headed an' ornery to care a whoop in hell whether we get mad
or not. They've a notion Paul Jones is dead, but I reckon we've
got plenty of the breed only waitin' a chance. Mor'n twenty-five
of our merchantmen wrecked each year through being stripped of
their crews by a 'friendly power.' 'Pears to me we couldn't be
worse off going to war, an' might be a dum sight better."

"Your home an' holdings are three hundred safe miles from the
seacoast," objected the man from Manhattan.

"Yes, and right next Canada," was the reply.

"The continued insults to our flag, sir, and the personal
indignities offered to our people are even worse than the actual
loss in ships and goods. It makes my blood fairly boil," and the
worthy general looked the part as his purple jowl quivered over
his white cravat.

"Gosh all hemlock! the one pricks, but t'other festers. it's
tarnal sure you steal a man's dinner and tell him he's one o'
nature's noblemen, he's more apt to love you than if you give him
five dollars to keep out o' your sight," said Sylvanne, with slow
emphasis.

"There's something to be said on the other side," said the timid
one. "You surely allow that the British government is trying to
do right, and after all we must admit that that Jilson affair
resected very little credit on our own administration."

"A man ken make one awful big mistake an' still be all right, but
he can't go on making a little mistake every day right along an'
be fit company for a clean crowd," retorted the new senator.

At length the governor rose and led the way to the drawing-room,
where they rejoined the ladies and the conversation took on a
different colour and weight, by which it lost all value for those
who knew not the art of twittering persiflage and found less joy
in a handkerchief flirtation than in the nation's onward march.
Rolf and Quonab enjoyed it now about as much as Skookum had done
all the time.

The Grebes and the Singing Mouse

Quonab puzzled long over the amazing fact that young Van
Cortlandt had evident high standing "in his own tribe." "He must
be a wise counsellor, for I know he cannot fight and is a fool at
hunting," was the ultimate decision.

They had a final interview with the governor and his son before
they left. Rolf received for himself and his partner the promised
one hundred and fifty dollars, and the hearty thanks of all in
the governor's home. Next, each was presented with a handsome
hunting knife, not unlike the one young Van had carried, but
smaller. Quonab received his with "Ho -- then, after a pause, "He
pull out, maybe, when I need him." -- "Ho! good!" he exclaimed,
as the keen blade appeared.

"Now, Rolf," said the lawyer, "I want to come back next year and
bring three companions, and we will pay you at the same rate per
month for each. What do you say?"

"Glad to have you again," said Rolf: "we'll come for you on
August fifteenth; but remember you should bring your guitar and
your spectacles."

"One word," said the governor, "do you know the canoe route
through Champlain to Canada? "

"Quonab does."

"Could you undertake to render scout service in that region?"

The Indian nodded.

"In case of war, we may need you both, so keep your ears open."

And once more the canoe made for the north, with Quonab in the
stern and Skookum in the bow.

In less than a week they were home, and none too soon; for
already the trees were bare, and they had to break the ice on the
river before they ended their trip.

Rolf had gathered many ideas the last two-months. He did not
propose to continue all his life as a trapper. He wanted to see
New York. He wanted to plan for the future. He needed money for
his plans. He and Quonab had been running a hundred miles of
traps, but some men run more than that single handed. They must
get out two new lines at once, before the frost came. One of
these they laid up the Hudson, above Eagle's Nest; the other
northerly on Blue Mountain, toward Racquet River. Doing this was
hard work, and when they came again to their cabin the robins had
gone from the bleak and leafless woods; the grouse were making
long night flights; the hollows had tracks of racing deer; there
was a sense of omen, a length of gloom, for the Mad Moon was
afloat in the shimmering sky; its wan light ghasted all the
hills.

Next day the lake was covered with thin, glare ice; on the glassy
surface near the shore were two ducks floundering. The men went
as near as they could, and Quonab said, " No, not duck, but
Shingebis, divers.

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