Rolf In The Woods

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After a long, tense crawl of twenty yards he came on the track
and sign of a big buck, perfectly fresh, and again his heart
worked harder; it seemed to be pumping his neck full of blood, so
he was choking. He judged it best to follow this hot trail for a
time, and holding his gun ready cocked he stepped softly onward.
A bluejay cried out, "jay, jay!" with startling loudness, and
seemingly enjoyed his pent-up excitement. A few steps forward at
slow, careful stalk, and then behind him he heard a loud
whistling hiss. Instantly turning he found himself face to face
with a great, splendid buck in the short blue coat. There not
thirty yards away he stood, the creature he had been stalking so
long, in plain view now, broadside on. They gazed each at the
other, perfectly still for a few seconds, then Rolf without undue
movement brought the gun to bear, and still the buck stood
gazing. The gun was up, but oh, how disgustingly it wabbled and
shook! and the steadier Rolf tried to bold it, the more it
trembled, until from that wretched gun the palsy spread all over
his body; his breath came tremulously, his legs and arms were
shaking, and at last, as the deer moved its head to get a better
view and raised its tail, the lad, making an effort at
selfcontrol, pulled the trigger. Bang! and the buck went lightly
bounding out of sight.

Poor Rolf; how disgusted he felt; positively sick with
self-contempt. Thirty yards, standing, broadside on, full
daylight, a big buck, a clean miss. Yes, there was the bullet
hole in a tree, five feet above the deer's head. "I'm no good;
I'll never be a hunter," he groaned, then turned and slowly
tramped back to camp. Quonab looked inquiringly, for, of course,
he heard the shot. He saw a glum and sorry-looking youth, who in
response to his inquiring look gave merely a head-shake, and hung
up the gun with a vicious bang.

Quonab took down the gun, wiped it out, reloaded it, then turning
to the boy said: "Nibowaka, you feel pretty sick. Ugh! You know
why? You got a good chance, but you got buck fever. It is
always so, every one the first time. You go again to-morrow and
you get your deer."

Rolf made no reply. So Quonab ventured, "You want me to go?"
That settled it for Rolf; his pride was touched.

"No; I'll go again in the morning."

In the dew time he was away once more on the hunting trail.
There was no wind, but the southwest was the likeliest to spring
up. So he went nearly over his last night's track. He found it
much easier to go silently now when all the world was dew wet,
and travelled quickly. Past the fateful glade he went, noted
again the tree torn several feet too high up, and on. Then the
cry of a bluejay rang out; this is often a notification of deer
at hand. It always is warning of something doing, and no wise
hunter ignores it.

Rolf stood for a moment listening and peering. He thought he
heard a scraping sound; then again the bluejay, but the former
ceased and the jay-note died in the distance. He crept
cautiously on again for a few minutes; another opening appeared.
He studied this from a hiding place; then far across he saw a
little flash near the ground. His heart gave a jump; he studied
the place, saw again the flash and then made out the head of a
deer, a doe that was lying in the long grass. The flash was made
by its ear shaking off a fly. Rolf looked to his priming, braced
himself, got fully ready, then gave a short, sharp whistle;
instantly the doe rose to her feet; then another appeared, a
sinal one; then a young buck; all stood gazing his way.

Up went the gun, but again its muzzle began to wabble. Rolf
lowered it, said grimly and savagely to himself, "I will not
shake this time." The deer stretched themselves and began slowly
walking toward the lake. All had disappeared but the buck. Rolf
gave another whistle that turned the antler-bearer to a statue.
Controlling himself with a strong "I will," he raised the gun,
held it steadily, and fired. The buck gave a gathering spasm, a
bound, and disappeared. Rolf felt sick again with disgust, but
he reloaded, then hastily went forward.

There was the deep imprint showing where the buck had bounded at
the shot, but no blood. He followed, and a dozen feet away found
the next hoof marks and on them a bright-red stain; on and
another splash; and more and shortening bounds, till one hundred
yards away - yes, there it lay; the round, gray form, quite dead,
shot through the heart. I

Rolf gave a long, rolling war cry and got an answer from a point
that was startlingly near, and Quonab stepped from behind a tree.

"I got him," shouted Rolf.

The Indian smiled. "I knew you would, so I followed; last night
I knew you must have your shakes, so let you go it alone."

Very carefully that deer was skinned, and Rolf learned the reason
for many little modes of procedure.

After the hide was removed from the body (not the hand or legs),
Quonab carefully cut out the-broad sheath of tendon that cover
the muscles, beginning at the hip bones on the back and extending
up to the shoulders; this is the sewing sinew. Then he cut out
the two long fillets of meat that lie on each side of the spine
outside (the loin) and the two smaller ones inside (the
tenderloin).

These, with the four quarters, the heart, and the kidneys, were
put into the hide. The entrails, head, neck, legs, feet, he left
for the foxes, but the hip bone or sacrum he hung in a tree with
three little red yarns from them, so that the Great Spirit would
be pleased and send good hunting. Then addressing the head he
said: "Little brother, forgive us. We are sorry to kill you.
Behold! we give you the honour of red streamers." Then bearing
the rest they tramped back to camp.

The meat wrapped in sacks to keep off the flies was hung in the
shade, but the hide he buried in the warm mud of a swamp hole,
and three days later, when the hair began to slip, he scraped it
clean. A broad ash wood hoop he had made ready and when the
green rawhide was strained on it again the Indian had an Indian
drum.

It was not truly dry for two or three days and as it tightened on
its frame it gave forth little sounds of click and shrinkage that
told of the strain the tensioned rawhide made. Quonab tried it
that night as he sat by the fire softly singing:

"Ho da ho-he da he."

But the next day before sunrise he climbed the hill and sitting
on the sun-up rock he hailed the Day God with the invocation, as
he had not sung it since the day they left the great rock above
the Asalnuk, and followed with the song:

"Father, we thank thee; We have found the good hunting. There is
meat in the wigwam."

The Line of Traps

Now that they had the cabin for winter, and food for the present,
they must set about the serious business of trapping and lay a
line of deadfalls for use in the coming cold weather. They were
a little ahead of time, but it was very desirable to get their
lines blazed through the woods in all proposed directions in case
of any other trapper coming in. Most fur-bearing animals are to
be found along the little valleys of the stream: beaver, otter,
mink, muskrat, coon, are examples. Those that do not actually
live by the water seek these places because of their sheltered
character and because their prey lives there; of this class are
the lynx, fox, fisher, and marten that feed on rabbits and mice.
Therefore a line of traps is usually along some valley and over
the divide and down some other valley back to the point of
beginning.

So, late in September, Rolf and Quonab, with their bedding, a
pot, food for four days, and two axes, alternately followed and
led by Skookum, set out along a stream that entered the lake near
their cabin. A quarter mile up they built their first deadfall
for martens. It took them one hour and was left unset. The
place was under a huge tree on a neck of land around which the
stream made a loop. This tree they blazed on three sides. Two
hundred yards up another good spot was found and a deadfall made.
At one place across a neck of land was a narrow trail evidently
worn by otters. "Good place for steel trap, bime-by," was
Quonab's remark.

From time to time they disturbed deer, and in a muddy place where
a deer path crossed the creek, they found, among the numerous
small hoof prints, the track of wolves, bears, and a mountain
lion, or panther. At these little Skookum sniffed fearsomely,
and showed by his bristly mane that he was at least much
impressed.

After five hours' travel and work they came to another stream
joining on, and near the angle of the two little valleys they
found a small tree that was chewed and scratched in a remarkable
manner for three to six feet up. "Bear tree," said Quonab, and by
degrees Rolf got the facts about it.

The bears, and indeed most animals, have a way of marking the
range that they consider their own. Usually this is done by
leaving their personal odour at various points, covering the
country claimed, but in some cases visible marks are added. Thus
the beaver leaves a little dab of mud, the wolf scratches with
his hind feet, and the bear tears the signal tree with tooth and
claw. Since this is done from time to time, when the bear
happens to be near the tree, it is kept fresh as long as the
region is claimed. But it is especially done in midsummer when
the bears are pairing, and helps them to find suitable
companions, nor all are then roaming the woods seeking mates; all
call and leave their mark on the sign post, so the next bear,
thanks to his exquisite nose, can tell at once the sex of the
bear that called last and by its track tell which way it
travelled afterward.

In this case it was a bear's register, but before long Quonab
showed Rolf a place where two long logs joined at an angle by a
tree that was rubbed and smelly, and showed a few marten hairs,
indicating that this was the sign post of a marten and a good
place to make a deadfall.

Yet a third was found in an open, grassy glade, a large, white
stone on which were pellets left by foxes. The Indian explained:

"Every fox that travels near will come and smell the stone to see
who of his kind is around, so this is a good place for a
fox-trap; a steel trap, of course, for no fox will go into a
deadfall."

And slowly Rolf learned that these habits are seen in some
measure in all animals; yes, down to the mice and shrews. We see
little of it because our senses are blunt and our attention
untrained; but the naturalist and the hunter always know where to
look for the four-footed inhabitants and by them can tell whether
or not the land is possessed by such and such a furtive tribe.
The Beaver Pond

AT THE noon halt they were about ten miles from home and had made
fifteen deadfalls for marten, for practice was greatly reducing
the time needed for each.

In the afternoon they went on, but the creek had become a mere
rill and they were now high up in a more level stretch of country
that was more or less swampy. As they followed the main course of
the dwindling stream, looking ever for signs of fur-bearers, they
crossed and recrossed the water. At length Quonab stopped,
stared, and pointed at the rill, no longer clear but clouded with
mud. His eyes shone as he jerked his head up stream and uttered
the magic word, "Beaver."

They tramped westerly for a hundred yards through a dense swamp
of alders, and came at last to an irregular pond that spread out
among the willow bushes and was lost in the swampy thickets.
Following the stream they soon came to a beaver dam, a long,
curving bank of willow branches and mud, tumbling through the top
of which were a dozen tiny streams that reunited their waters
below to form the rivulet they had been following.

Red-winged blackbirds were sailing in flocks about the pond; a
number of ducks were to be seen, and on a dead tree, killed by
the backed up water, a great blue heron stood. Many smaller
creatures moved or flitted in the lively scene, while far out
near the middle rose a dome-like pile of sticks, a beaver lodge,
and farther three more were discovered. No beaver were seen, but
the fresh cut sticks, the floating branches peeled of all the
bark, and the long, strong dam in good repair were enough to tell
a practised eye that here was a large colony of beavers in
undisturbed possession.

In those days beaver was one of the most valued furs. The
creature is very easy to trap; so the discovery of the pond was
like the finding of a bag of gold. They skirted its uncertain
edges and Quonab pointed out the many landing places of the
beaver; little docks they seemed, built up with mud and stones
with deep water plunge holes alongside. Here and there on the
shore was a dome-shaped ant's nest with a pathway to it from the
pond, showing, as the Indian said, that here the beaver came on
sunny days to lie on the hill and let the swarming ants come
forth and pick the vermin from their fur. At one high point
projecting into the still water they found a little mud pie with
a very strong smell; this, the Indian said, was a "castor cache,"
the sign that, among beavers, answers the same purpose as the
bear tree among bears.

Although the pond seemed small they had to tramp a quarter of a
mile before reaching the upper end and here they found another
dam, with its pond. This was at a slightly higher level and
contained a single lodge; after this they found others, a dozen
ponds in a dozen successive rises, the first or largest and the
second only having lodges, but all were evidently part of the
thriving colony, for fresh cut trees were seen on every side.
"Ugh, good; we get maybe fifty beaver," said the Indian, and they
knew they had reached the Promised Land.

Rolf would gladly have spent the rest of the day exploring the
pond and trying for a beaver, when the eventide should call them
to come forth, but Quonab said, "Only twenty deadfall; we should
have one hundred and fifty." So making for a fine sugar bush on
the dry ground west of the ponds they blazed a big tree, left a
deadfall there, and sought the easiest way over the rough hills
that lay to the east, in hopes of reaching the next stream
leading down to their lake.

The Porcupine

Skookum was a partly trained little dog; he would stay in camp
when told, if it suited him; and would not hesitate to follow or
lead his master, when he felt that human wisdom was inferior to
the ripe product of canine experience covering more than thirteen
moons of recollection. But he was now living a life in which his
previous experience must often fail him as a guide. A faint
rustling on the leafy ground had sent him ahead at a run, and his
sharp, angry bark showed that some hostile creature of the woods
had been discovered. Again and again the angry yelping was
changed into a sort of yowl, half anger, half distress. The
hunters hurried forward to find the little fool charging again
and again a huge porcupine that was crouched with its head under
a log, its hindquarters exposed but bristling with spines; and
its tail lashing about, left a new array of quills in the dog's
mouth and face each time he charged. Skookum was a plucky
fighter, but plainly he was nearly sick of it. The pain of the
quills would, of course, increase every minute and with each
movement. Quonab took a stout stick and threw the porcupine out
of its retreat, (Rolf supposed to kill it when the head was
exposed,) but the spiny one, finding a new and stronger enemy,
wasted no time in galloping at its slow lumbering pace to the
nearest small spruce tree and up that it scrambled to a safe
place in the high branches.

Now the hunters called the dog. He was a sorry-looking object,
pawing at his muzzle, first with one foot, then another, trying
to unswallow the quills in his tongue, blinking hard, uttering
little painful grunts and whines as he rubbed his head upon the
ground or on his forelegs. Rolf held him while Quonab, with a
sharp jerk, brought out quill after quill. Thirty or forty of
the poisonous little daggers were plucked from his trembling
legs, head, face, and nostrils, but the dreadful ones were those
in his lips and tongue. Already they were deeply sunk in the
soft, quivering flesh. One by one those in the lips were with-
drawn by the strong fingers of the red man, and Skookum whimpered
a little, but he shrieked outright when those in the 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.'"

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.

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