Rolf In The Woods

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"Can't I sell you a fine rifle?" and he took down a new, elegant
small bore of the latest pattern. "Only twenty- five dollars."
Rolf shook his head; "part down, and I'll take the rest in fur
next spring." Rolf was sorely tempted; however, he had an early
instilled horror of debt. He steadfastly said: "No." But many
times he regretted it afterward! The small balance remaining was
settled in cash.

As they were arranging and selecting, they heard a most hideous
yelping outdoors, and a minnute later Skookum limped in, crying
as if half-killed. Quonab was out in a moment.

"Did you kick my dog?"

The brutal loafer changed countenance as he caught the red man's
eye. "Naw! never touched him; hurted himself on that rake."

It was obviously a lie, but better to let it pass, and Quonab
came in again.

Then the rough stranger appeared at the door and growled: "Say,
Warren! ain't you going to let me have that rifle? I guess my
word's as good as the next man's."

"No," said Warren; "I told you, no!"

"Then you can go to blazes, and you'll never see a cent's worth
of fur from the stuff I got last year."

"I don't expect to," was the reply; "I've learned what your
word's worth." And the stranger slouched away.

"Who vas he?" asked Hendrik.

"I only know that his name is Jack Hoag; he's a little bit of a
trapper and a big bit of a bum; stuck me last year. He doesn't
come out this way; they say he goes out by the west side of the
mountains."

New light on their course was secured from Warren, and above all,
the important information that the mouth of Jesup's River was
marked by an eagle's nest in a dead pine. "Up to that point keep
the main stream, and don't forget next spring I'm buying fur."

The drive across Five-mile portage was slow. It took over two
hours to cover it, but late that day they reached the Schroon.

Here the Dutchman said "Good-bye: Coom again some noder time."
Skookum saluted the farmer with a final growl, then Rolf and
Quonab were left alone in the wilderness.

It was after sundown, so they set about camping for the night. A
wise camper always prepares bed and shelter in daylight, if
possible. While Rolf made a fire and hung the kettle, Quonab
selected a level, dry place between two trees, and covered it
with spruce boughs to make the beds, and last a low tent was made
by putting the lodge cover over a pole between the trees. The
ends of the covers were held down by loose green logs quickly cut
for the purpose, and now they were safe against weather.

Tea, potatoes, and fried pork, with maple syrup and hard-tack,
made their meal of the time, after which there was a long smoke.
Quonab took a stick of red willow, picked up-in the daytime, and
began shaving it toward one end, leaving the curling shreds still
on the stick. When these were bunched in a fuzzy mop, he held
them over the fire until they were roasted brown; then, grinding
all up in his palm with some tobacco, and filling his pipe he
soon was enveloped in that odour of woodsy smoke called the
"Indian smell," by many who do not know whence or how it comes.
Rolf did not smoke. He had promised his mother that he would not
until he was a man, and something brought her back home now with
overwhehning force; that was the beds they had made of fragrant
balsam boughs. "Cho-ko- tung or blister tree" as Quonab called
it. His mother had a little sofa pillow, brought from the North
-- a "northern pine" pillow they called it, for it was stuffed
with pine needles of a kind not growing in Connecticut. Many a
time had Rolf as a baby pushed his little round nose into that
bag to inhale the delicious odour it gave forth, and so it became
the hallowed smell of all that was dear in his babyhood, and it
never lost its potency. Smell never does. Oh, mighty aura! that,
in marching by the nostrils, can reach and move the soul; how
wise the church that makes this power its handmaid, and through
its incense overwhelms all alien thought when the worshipper,
wandering, doubting, comes again to see if it be true, that here
doubt dies. Oh, queen of memory that is master of the soul! how
fearful should we be of letting evil thought associated grow with
some recurrent odour that we love. Happy, indeed, are they that
find some ten times pure and consecrated fragrance, like the
pine, which entering in is master of their moods, and yet through
linking thoughts has all its power, uplifting, full of sweetness
and blessed peace. So came to Rolf his medicine tree.

The balsam fir was his tree of hallowed memory. Its odour never
failed, and he slept that night with its influence all about him.

Starting in the morning was no easy matter. There was so much to
be adjusted that first day. Packs divided in two, new
combinations to trim the canoe, or to raise such and such a
package above a possible leak. The heavy things, like axes and
pans, had to be fastened to the canoe or to packages that would
float in case of an upset. The canoe itself had to be gummed in
one or two places; but they got away after three hours, and began
the voyage down the Schroon.

This was Rolf's first water journey. He had indeed essayed the
canoe on the Pipestave Pond, but that was a mere ferry. This was
real travel. He marvelled at the sensitiveness of the frail
craft; the delicacy of its balance; its quick response to the
paddle; the way it seemed to shrink from the rocks; and the
unpleasantly suggestive bend-up of the ribs when the bottom
grounded upon a log. It was a new world for him. Quonab taught
him never to enter the canoe except when she was afloat; never to
rise in her or move along without hold of the gunwale; never to
make a sudden move; and he also learned that it was easier to
paddle when there were six feet of water underneath than when
only six inches.

In an hour they had covered the five miles that brought them to
the Hudson, and here the real labour began, paddling up stream.
Before long they came to a shallow stretch with barely enough
water to float the canoe. Here they jumped out and waded in the
stream, occasionally lifting a stone to one side, till they
reached the upper stretch of deep water and again went merrily
paddling. Soon they came to an impassable rapid, and Rolf had his
first taste of a real carry or portage. Quonab's eye was
watching the bank as soon as the fierce waters appeared; for the
first question was, where shall we land? and the next, how far do
we carry? There are no rapids on important rivers in temperate
America that have not been portaged more or less for ages. No
canoe man portages without considering most carefully when,
where, and how to land. His selection of the place, then, is the
result of careful study. He cannot help leaving some mark at the
place, slight though it be, and the next man looks for that mark
to save himself time and trouble.

"Ugh" was the only sound that Rolf heard from his companion, and
the canoe headed for a flat rock in the pool below the rapids.
After landing, they found traces of an old camp fire. It was
near noon now, so Rolf prepared the meal while Quonab took a
light pack and went on to learn the trail. It was not well
marked; had not been used for a year or two, evidently, but there
are certain rules that guide one. The trail keeps near the
water, unless there is some great natural barrier, and it is
usually the easiest way in sight. Quonab kept one eye on the
river, for navigable water was the main thing, and in about one
hundred yards he was again on the stream's edge, at a good
landing above the rapid.

After the meal was finished and the Indian had smoked, they set
to work. In a few loads each, the stuff was portaged across, and
the canoe was carried over and moored to the bank.

The cargo replaced, they went on again, but in half an hour after
passing more shoal water, saw another rapid, not steep, but too
shallow to float the canoe, even with both men wading. Here
Quonab made what the Frenchmen call a demi-charge. He carried
half the stuff to the bank; then, wading, one at each end, they
hauled the canoe up the portage and reloaded her above. Another
strip of good going was succeeded by a long stretch of very swift
water that was two or three feet deep and between shores that
were densely grown with alders. The Indian landed, cut two
light, strong poles, and now, one at the bow, the other at the
stern, they worked their way foot by foot up the fierce current
until safely on the upper level.

Yet one more style of canoe propulsion was forced on them. They
came to a long stretch of smooth, deep, very swift water, almost
a rapid-one of the kind that is a joy when you are coming down
stream. It differed from the last in having shores that were not
alder-hidden, but open gravel banks. Now did Quonab take a long,
strong line from his war sack. One end he fastened, not to the
bow, but to the forward part of the canoe, the other to a
buckskin band which he put across his breast. Then, with Rolf in
the stern to steer and the Indian hauling on the bank, the canoe
was safely "tracked" up the "strong waters."

Thus they fought their way up the hard river, day after day,
making sometimes only five miles after twelve hours' toilsome
travel. Rapids, shoals, portages, strong waters, abounded, and
before they had covered the fifty miles to the forks of Jesup's
River, they knew right well why the region was so little entered.

It made a hardened canoe man of Rolf, and when, on the evening of
the fifth day, they saw a huge eagle's nest in a dead pine tree
that stood on the edge of a long swamp, both felt they had
reached their own country, and were glad.
Animal Life Along the River

It must not be supposed that, because it has been duly mentioned,
they saw no wild life along the river. The silent canoe man has
the best of opportunities. There were plenty of deer tracks
about the first camp, and that morning, as they turned up the
Hudson, Rolf saw his first deer. They had rounded a point in
rather swift water when Quonab gave two taps on the gunwale, the
usual sign, "Look out," and pointed to the shore. There, fifty
yards away on bank, gazing at them, was a deer. Stock still he
stood like a red statue, for he was yet in the red coat. With
three or four strong strokes, Quonab gave a long and mighty
forward spurt; then reached for his gun. But the deer's white
flag went up. It turned and bounded away, the white flag the
last thing to disappear. Rolf sat spellbound. It was so sudden;
so easy; it soon melted into the woods again. He trembled after
it was gone.

Many a time in the evening they saw muskrats in the eddies, and
once they glimpsed a black, shiny something like a monstrous
leech rolling up and down as it travelled in the stream. Quonab
whispered, "Otter," and made ready his gun, but it dived and
showed itself no more. At one of the camps they were awakened by
an extraordinary tattoo in the middle of the night -- a harsh
rattle close by their heads; and they got up to find that a
porcupine was rattling his teeth on the frying-pan in an effort
to increase the amount of salt that he could taste on it.
Skookum, tied to a tree, was vainly protesting against the
intrusion and volunteered to make a public example of the
invader. The campers did not finally get rid of the spiny one
till all their kitchen stuff was hung beyond his reach.

Once they heard the sharp, short bark of a fox, and twice or
thrice the soft, sweet, moaning call of the gray wolf out to
hunt. Wild fowl abounded, and their diet was varied by the ducks
that one or other of the hunters secured at nearly every camp.

On the second day they saw three deer, and on the third morning
Quonab loaded his gun with buckshot, to be ready, then sallied
forth at dawn. Rolf was following, but the Indian shook his
head, then said: "Don't make fire for half an hour."

In twenty minutes Rolf heard the gun, then later the Indian
returned with a haunch of venison, and when they left that camp
they stopped a mile up the river to add the rest of the venison
to their cargo. Seven other deer were seen, but no more killed;
yet Rolf was burning to try his hand as a hunter. Many other
opportunities he had, and improved some of them. On one wood
portage he, or rather Skookum, put up a number of ruffed grouse.
These perched in the trees above their heads and the travellers
stopped. While the dog held their attention Rolf with blunt
arrows knocked over five that proved most acceptable as food.
But his thoughts were now on deer, and his ambition was to go out
alone and return with a load of venison.

Another and more thrilling experience followed quickly. Rounding
a bend in the early dawn they sighted a black bear and two cubs
rambling along the gravelly bank and stopping now and then to eat
something that turned out to be crayfish.

Quonab had not seen a bear since childhood, when he and his
father hunted along the hardwood ridges back of Myanos, and now
he was excited. He stopped paddling, warned Rolf to do the same,
and let the canoe drift backward until out of sight; then made
for the land. Quickly tying up the canoe he took his gun and Rolf
his hunting arrows, and, holding Skookum in a leash, they dashed
into the woods. Then, keeping out of sight, they ran as fast and
as silently as possible in the direction of the bears. Of
course, the wind was toward the hunters, or they never could have
got so near. Now they were opposite the family group and needed
only a chance for a fair shot. Sneaking forward with the utmost
caution, they were surely within twenty-five yards, but still the
bushes screened the crab-eaters. As the hunters sneaked, the old
bear stopped and sniffed suspiciously; the wind changed, she got
an unmistakable whiff; then gave a loud warning "Koff! Koff!
Koff! Koff!" and ran as fast as she could. The hunters knowing
they were discovered rushed out, yelling as loudly as possible,
in hopes of making the bears tree. The old bear ran like a horse
with Skookum yapping bravely in her rear. The young ones, left
behind, lost sight of her, and, utterly bewildered by the noise,
made for a tree conveniently near and scrambled up into the
branches. "Now," Rolf thought, judging by certain tales he had
heard, "that old bear will come back and there will be a fight."

"Is she coming back?" he asked nervously.

The Indian laughed. "No, she is running yet. Black bear always
a coward; they never fight when they can run away."

The little ones up the tree were, of course, at the mercy of the
hunters, and in this case it was not a broken straw they depended
on, but an ample salvation. "We don't need the meat and can't
carry it with us; let's leave them," said Rolf, but added, "Will
they find their mother?"

"Yes, bime-by; they come down and squall all over woods. She
will hang round half a mile away and by night all will be
together."

Their first bear hunt was over. Not a shot fired, not a bear
wounded, not a mile travelled, and not an hour lost. And yet it
seemed much more full of interesting thrills than did any one of
the many stirring bear hunts that Rolf and Quonab shared together
in the days that were to come.

The Footprint on the Shore

Jesup's River was a tranquil stream that came from a region of
swamps, and would have been easy canoeing but for the fallen
trees. Some of these had been cut years ago, showing that the
old trapper had used this route. Once they were unpleasantly
surprised by seeing a fresh chopping on the bank, but their
mourning was changed into joy when they found it was beaver-work.

Ten miles they made that day. In the evening they camped on the
shore of Jesup's Lake, proud and happy in the belief that they
were the rightful owners of it all. That night they heard again
and again the howling of wolves, but it seemed on the far side of
the lake. In the morning they went out on foot to explore, and
at once had the joy of seeing five deer, while tracks showed on
every side. It was evidently a paradise for deer, and there were
in less degree the tracks of other animals -- mink in fair
abundance, one or two otters, a mountain lion, and a cow moose
with her calf. It was thrilling to see such a feast of
possibilities. The hunters were led on and on, revelling in the
prospect of many joys before them, when all at once they came on
something that turned their joy to grief -- the track of a man;
the fresh imprint of a cowhide boot. It was maddening. At first
blush, it meant some other trapper ahead of them with a prior
claim to the valley; a claim that the unwritten law would allow.
They followed it a mile. It went striding along the shore at a
great pace, sometimes running, and keeping down the west shore.
Then they found a place where he had sat down and broken a lot of
clam shells, and again had hastened on. But there was no mark of
gunstock or other weapon where he sat; and why was he wearing
boots? The hunters rarely did.

For two miles the Indian followed with Rolf, and sometimes found
that the hated stranger had been running hard. Then they turned
back, terribly disappointed. At first it seemed a crushing blow.
They had three courses open to them - to seek a location farther
north, to assume that one side of the lake was theirs, or to find
out exactly who and what the stranger was. They decided on the
last. The canoe was launched and loaded, and they set out to look
for what they hoped they would not find, a trapper's shanty on
the lake.

After skirting the shore for four or five miles and disturbing
one or two deer, as well as hosts of ducks, the voyagers landed
and there still they found that fateful bootmark steadily
tramping southward. By noon they had reached the south end of
the west inlet that leads to another lake, and again an
examination of the shore showed the footmarks, here leaving the
lake and going southerly. Now the travellers retired to the main
lake and by noon had reached the south end. At no point had they
seen any sign of a cabin, though both sides of the lake were in
plain view all day. The travelling stranger was a mystery, but
he did not live here and there was no good reason why they should
not settle.

Where? The country seemed equally good at all points, but it is
usually best to camp on an outlet. Then when a storm comes up,
the big waves do not threaten your canoe, or compel you to stay
on land. It is a favourite crossing for animals avoiding the
lake, and other trappers coming in are sure to see your cabin
before they enter.

Which side of the outlet? Quonab settled that -- the west. He
wanted to see the sun rise, and, not far back from the water, was
a hill with a jutting, rocky pinnade. He pointed to this and
uttered the one word, "Idaho." Here, then, on the west side,
where the lake enters the river, they began to clear the ground
for their home.

The Trappers' Cabin

It's a smart fellow that knows what he can't do. -Sayings of Si Sylvanne.

I suppose every trapper that ever lived, on first building a
cabin, said, "Oh, any little thing will do, so long as it has a
roof and is big enough to lie down in." And every trapper has
realized before spring that he made a sad mistake in not having
it big enough to live in and store goods in. Quonab and Rolf
were new at the business, and made the usual mistake. They
planned their cabin far too small; 10 X 12 ft., instead of 12 X
20 ft. they made it, and 6-ft. walls, instead of 8-ft. walls.
Both were expert axemen. Spruce was plentiful and the cabin rose
quickly. In one day the walls were up. An important thing was
the roof. What should it be? Overlapping basswood troughs, split
shingles, also called shakes, or clay? By far the easiest to
make, the warmest in winter and coolest in summer, is the clay
roof. It has three disadvantages: It leaks in long-continued wet
weather; it drops down dust and dirt in dry weather; and is so
heavy that it usually ends by crushing in the log rafters and
beams, unless they are further supported on posts, which are much
in the way. But its advantages were so obvious that the builders
did not hesitate. A clay roof it was to be.

When the walls were five feet high, the doorway and window were
cut through the logs, but leaving in each case one half of the
log at the bottom of the needed opening. The top log was now
placed, then rolled over bottom up, wlile half of its thickness
was cut away to fit over the door: a similar cut out was made
over the window. Two flat pieces of spruce were prepared for
door jambs and two shorter ones for window jambs. Auger holes
were put through, so as to allow an oak pin to be driven through
the jamb into each log, and the doorway and window opening were done.

In one corner they planned a small fireplace, built of clay and
stone. Not stone from the lake, as Rolf would have had it, but
from the hillside; and why? Quonab said that the lake stone was
of the water spirits, and would not live near fire, but would
burst open; while the hillside stone was of the sun and fire
spirit, and in the fire would add its heat.

The facts are that lake stone explodes when greatly heated and
hill stone does not; and since no one has been able to improve
upon Quonab's explanation, it must stand for the present.

The plan of the fireplace was simple. Rolf had been present at
the building of several, and the main point was to have the
chimney large enough, and the narrowest point just above the fire.

The eaves logs, end logs, and ridge logs were soon in place; then
came the cutting of small poles, spruce and tamarack, long enough
to reach from ridge to eaves, and in sufficient number to
completely cover the roof. A rank sedge meadow near by afforded
plenty of coarse grass with which the poles were covered deeply;
and lastly clay dug out with a couple of hand-made, axe-hewn
wooden spades was thrown evenly on the grass to a depth of six
inches; this, when trampled flat, made a roof that served them well.

The chinks of the logs when large were filled with split pieces
of wood; when small they were plugged with moss. A door was made
of hewn planks, and hinged very simply on two pins; one made by
letting the plank project as a point, the other by nailing on a
pin after the door was placed; both pins fitting, of course, into
inch auger holes.

A floor was not needed, but bed bunks were, and in making these
they began already to realize that the cabin was too small. But
now after a week's work it was done. It had a sweet fragrance of
wood and moss, and the pleasure it gave to Rolf at least was
something he never again could expect to find in equal measure
about any other dwelling he might make.

Quonab laid the fire carefully, then lighted his pipe, sang a
little crooning song about the "home spirits," which we call
"household gods," walked around the shanty, offering the pipestem
to each of the four winds in turn, then entering lighted the flre
from his pipe, threw some tobacco and deer hair on the blaze, and
the house-warming was ended.

Nevertheless, they continued to sleep in the tent they had used
all along, for Quonab loved not the indoors, and Rolf was growing
daily more of his mind.

Rolf's First Deer

Anxious to lose no fine day they had worked steadily on the
shanty, not even going after the deer that were seen occasionally
over the lake, so that now they were out of fresh meat, and Rolf
saw a chance he long had looked for. "Quonab, I want to go out
alone and get a deer, and I want your gun.

"Ugh! you shall go. To-night is good."

"To-night" meant evening, so Rolf set out alone as soon as the
sun was low, for during the heat of the day the deer are commonly
lying in some thicket. In general, he knew enough to travel up
wind, and to go as silently as possible. The southwest wind was
blowing softly, and so he quickened his steps southwesterly which
meant along the lake. Tracks and signs abounded; it was
impossible to follow any one trail. His plan was to keep on
silently, trusting to luck, nor did he have long to wait. Across
a little opening of the woods to the west he saw a movement in
the bushes, but it ceased, and he was in doubt whether the
creature, presumably a deer, was standing there or had gone on.
"Never quit till you are sure," was one of Quonab's wise adages.
Rolf was bound to know what it was that had moved. So he stood
still and waited. A minute passed; another; many; a long time;
and still he waited, but got no further sign of life from the
bush. Then he began to think he was mistaken; yet it was good
huntercraft to find out what that was. He tried the wind several
times, first by wetting his finger, which test said "southwest";
second, by tossing up some handfuls of dried grass, which said
"yes, southwest, but veering southerly in this glade." So he knew
he might crawl silentlv to the north side of that bush. He
looked to the priming of his gun and began a slow and stealthy
stalk, selecting such openings as might be passed without effort
or movement of bushes or likelihood of sound. He worked his way
step by step; each time his foot was lifted he set it down again
only after trying the footing. At each step he paused to look
and listen. It was only one hundred yards to the interesting
spot, but Rolf was fifteen minutes in covering the distance, and
more than once, he got a great start as a chicadee flew out or a
woodpecker tapped. His heart beat louder and louder, so it
seemed everything near must hear; but he kept on his careful
stalk, and at last had reached the thicket that had given him
such thrills and hopes. Here he stood and watched for a full
minute. Again he tried the wind, and proceeded to circle slowly
to the west of the place.

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