Rolf In The Woods

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With a succession of shrill, birdy chirps the old otters warned
their young. Plump, plump, plump, all shot into the pool, but to
reappear, swimming with heads out, for they were but slightly
alarmed. This was too much for Quonob; he levelled his flintlock;
snap, bang, it went, pointed at the old male, but he dived at the
snap and escaped. Down the bank now rushed the hunters,
joined by Skookum, to attack the otters in the pool, for it was
small and shallow; unless a burrow led from it, they were trapped.

But the otters realized the peril. All six dashed out of the
pool, down the open, gravelly stream the old ones uttering loud
chirps that rang like screams. Under the fallen logs and brush
they glided, dodging beneath roots and over banks, pursued by the
hunters, each armed with a club and by Skookum not armed at all.

The otters seemed to know where they were going and distanced all
but the dog. Forgetting his own condition Skookum had almost
overtaken one of the otter cubs when the mother wheeled about
and, hissing and snarling, charged. Skookum was lucky to get off
with a slight nip, for the otter is a dangerous fighter. But the
unlucky dog was sent howling back to the two packs that he never
should have left.

The hunters now found an open stretch of woods through which
Quonab could run ahead and intercept the otters as they bounded
on down the stream bed, pursued by Rolf, who vainly tried to deal
a blow with his club. In a few seconds the family party was up
to Quonab, trapped it seemed, but there is no more desperate
assailant than an otter fighting for its young. So far from
being cowed the two old ones made a simultaneous, furious rush at
the Indian. Wholly taken by surprise, he missed with his club,
and sprang aside to escape their jaws. The family dashed around
then past him, and, urged by the continuous chirps of the mother,
they plunged under a succession of log jams and into a willow
swamp that spread out into an ancient beaver lake and were
swallowed up in the silent wilderness.

Back to the Cabin

The far end of the long swamp the stream emerged, now much
larger, and the trappers kept on with their work. When night
fell they had completed fifty traps, all told, and again they
camped without shelter overhead.

Next day Skookum was so much worse that they began to fear for
his life. He had eaten nothing since the sad encounter. He
could drink a little, so Rolf made a pot of soup, and when it was
cool the poor doggie managed to swallow some of the liquid after
half an hour's patient endeavour.

They were now on the home line; from a hill top they got a
distant view of their lake, though it was at least five miles
away. Down the creek they went, still making their deadfalls at
likely places and still seeing game tracks at the muddy spots.
The creek came at length to an extensive, open, hardwood bush,
and here it was joined by another stream that came from the
south, the two making a small river. From then on they seemed in
a land of game; trails of deer were seen on the ground
everywhere, and every few minutes they started one or two deer.
The shady oak wood itself was flanked and varied with dense cedar
swamps such as the deer love to winter in, and after they had
tramped through two miles of it, the Indian said, "Good! now we
know where to come in winter when we need meat."

At a broad, muddy ford they passed an amazing number of tracks,
mostly deer, but a few of panther, lynx, fisher, wolf, otter, and
mink.

In the afternoon they reached the lake. The stream, quite a
broad one here, emptied in about four miles south of the camp.
Leaving a deadfall near its mouth they followed the shore and
made a log trap every quarter mile just above the high water
mark.

When they reached the place of Rolf's first deer they turned
aside to see it. The gray jays had picked a good deal of the
loose meat. No large animal had troubled it, and yet in the
neighbourhood they found the tracks of both wolves and foxes;

"Ugh," said Quonab, "they smell it and come near, but they know
that a man has been here; they are not very hungry, so keep away.
This is good for trap."

So they made two deadfalls with the carrion half way between
them. Then one or two more traps and they reached home, arriving
at the camp just as darkness and a heavy rainfall began.

"Good," said Quonab, "our deadfalls are ready; we have done all
the work our fingers could not do when the weather is very cold,
and the ground too hard for stakes to be driven. Now the traps
can get weathered before we go round and set them. Yet we need
some strong medicine, some trapper charm."

Next morning he went forth with fish-line and fish-spear; he soon
returned with a pickerel. He filled a bottle with cut-up shreds
of this, corked it up, and hung it on the warm, sunny side of the
shanty. "That will make a charm that every bear will come to, "
he said, and left it to the action of the sun.

Sick Dog Skookum

Getting home is always a joy; but walking about the place in the
morning they noticed several little things that were wrong.
Quonab's lodge was down, the paddles that stood against the
shanty were scattered on the ground, and a bag of venison hung
high at the ridge was opened and empty.

Quonab studied the tracks and announced "a bad old black bear; he
has rollicked round for mischief, upsetting things. But the
venison he could not reach; that was a marten that ripped open
the bag."

"Then that tells what we should do; build a storehouse at the end
of the shanty, " said Rolf, adding, "it must be tight and it must
be cool."

"Maybe! sometime before winter," said the Indian; "but now we
should make another line of traps while the weather is fine."

"No," replied the lad, "Skookum is not fit to travel now. We
can't leave him behind, and we can make a storehouse in three
days."

The unhappy little dog was worse than ever. He could scarcely
breathe, much less eat or drink, and the case was settled.

First they bathed the invalid's head in water as hot as he could
stand it. This seemed to help him so much that he swallowed
eagerly some soup that they poured into his mouth. A bed was
made for him in a sunny place and the hunters set about the new
building.

In three days the storehouse was done, excepting the chinking.
It was October now, and a sharp night frost warned them of the
hard white moons to come. Quonab, as he broke the ice in a tin
cup and glanced at the low-hung sun, said: "The leaves are
falling fast; snow comes soon; we need another line of traps."

He stopped suddenly; stared across the lake. Rolf looked, and
here came three deer, two bucks and a doe, trotting, walking, or
lightly clearing obstacles, the doe in advance; the others, rival
followers. As they kept along the shore, they came nearer the
cabin. Rolf glanced at Quonab, who nodded, then slipped in, got
down the gun, and quickly glided unseen to the river where the
deer path landed. The bucks did not actually fight, for the
season was not yet on, but their horns were clean, their necks
were swelling, and they threatened each other as they trotted
after the leader. They made for the ford as for some familiar
path, and splashed through, almost without swimming. As they
landed, Rolf waited a clear view, then gave a short sharp "Hist!"
It was like a word of magic, for it turned the three moving deer
to three stony-still statues. Rolf's sights were turned on the
smaller buck, and when the great cloud following the bang had
deared away, the two were gone and the lesser buck was kicking on
the ground some fifty yards away.

"We have found the good hunting; the deer walk into camp," said
Quonab; and the product of the chase was quickly stored, the
first of the supplies to be hung in the new storehouse.

The entrails were piled up and covered with brush and stones.
"That will keep off ravens and jays; then in winter the foxes
will come and we can take their coats."

Now they must decide for the morning. Skookum was somewhat
better, but still very sick, and Rolf suggested: "Quonab, you
take the gun and axe and lay a new line. I will stay behind and
finish up the cabin for the winter and look after the dog." So
it was agreed. The Indian left the camp alone this time and
crossed to the east shore of the lake; there to follow up another
stream as before and to return in three or four days to the cabin.

Alone in the Wilderness

Rolf began the day by giving Skookum a bath as hot as he could
stand it, and later his soup. For the first he whined feebly and
for the second faintly wagged his tail; but clearly he was on the
mend.

Now the chinking and moss-plugging of the new cabin required all
attention. That took a day and looked like the biggest job on
hand, but Rolf had been thinking hard about the winter. In
Connecticut the wiser settlers used to bank their houses for the
cold weather; in the Adiron- dacks he knew it was far, far
colder, and he soon decided to bank the two shanties as deeply as
possible with earth. A good spade made of white oak, with its
edge hardened by roasting it brown, was his first necessity, and
after two days of digging he had the cabin with its annex buried
up to "the eyes" in fresh, clean earth.

A stock of new, dry wood for wet weather helped to show how much
too small the cabin was; and now the heavier work was done, and
Rolf had plenty of time to think.

Which of us that has been left alone in the wilderness does not
remember the sensations of the first day! The feeling of
self-dependency, not unmixed with unrestraint; the ending of
civilized thought; the total reversion to the primitive; the
nearness of the wood-folk; a sense of intimacy; a recurrent
feeling of awe at the silent inexorability of all around; and a
sweet pervading sense of mastery in the very freedom. These were
among the feelings that swept in waves through Rolf, and when the
first night came, he found such comfort -- yes, he had to confess
it -- in the company of the helpless little dog whose bed was by
his own.

But these were sensations that come not often; in the four days
and nights that he was alone they lost all force.

The hunter proverb about "strange beasts when you have no gun"
was amply illustrated now that Quonab had gone with their only
firearm. The second night before turning in (he slept in the
shanty now), he was taking a last look at the stars, when a
large, dark form glided among the tree trunks between him and the
shimmering lake; stopped, gazed at him, then silently disappeared
along the shore. No wonder that he kept the shanty door closed
that night, and next morning when he studied the sandy ridges he
read plainly that his night visitor had been not a lynx or a fox,
but a prowling cougar or panther.

On the third morning as he went forth in the still early dawn he
heard a snort, and looking toward the spruce woods, was amazed to
see towering up, statuesque, almost grotesque, with its mulish
ears and antediluvian horns, a large bull moose.

Rolf was no coward, but the sight of that monster so close to him
set his scalp a-prickling. He felt so helpless without any
firearms. He stepped into the cabin, took down his bow and
arrows, then gave a contemptuous "Humph; all right for partridge
and squirrels, but give me a rifle for the woods!" He went out
again; there was the moose standing as before. The lad rushed
toward it a few steps, shouting; it stared unmoved. But Rolf was
moved, and he retreated to the cabin. Then remembering the
potency of fire he started a blaze on the hearth. The thick
smoke curled up on the still air, hung low, made swishes through
the grove, until a faint air current took a wreath of it to the
moose. The great nostrils drank in a draught that conveyed
terror to the creature's soul, and wheeling it started at its
best pace to the distant swamp, to be seen no more.

Five times, during these four days, did deer come by and behave
as though they knew perfectly well that this young human was
harmless, entirely without the power of the far-killing mystery.

How intensely Rolf wished for a gun. How vividly came back the
scene in the trader's store, -- when last month he had been
offered a beautiful rifle for twenty-five dollars, to be paid for
in fur next spring, and savagely he blamed himself for not
realizing what a chance it was. Then and there he made resolve
to be the owner of a gun as soon as another chance came, and to
make that chance come right soon.

One little victory he had in that time. The creature that had
torn open the venison bag was still around the camp; that was
plain by the further damage on the bag hung in the storehouse,
the walls of which were not chinked. Mindful of Quonab's remark,
he set two marten traps, one on the roof, near the hole that had
been used as entry; the other on a log along which the creature
must climb to reach the meat. The method of setting is simple; a
hollow is made, large enough to receive the trap as it lies open;
on the pan of the trap some grass is laid smoothly; on each side
of the trap a piece of prickly brush is placed, so that in
leaping over these the creature will land on the lurking snare.
The chain was made fast to a small log.

Although so seldom seen there is no doubt that the marten comes
out chiefly by day. That night the trap remained unsprung; next
morning as Rolf went at silent dawn to bring water from the lake,
he noticed a long, dark line that proved to be ducks. As he sat
gazing he heard a sound in the tree beyond the cabin. It was
like the scratching of a squirrel climbing about. Then he saw
the creature, a large, dark squirrel, it seemed. It darted up
this tree and down that, over logs and under brush, with the
lightning speed of a lightning squirrel, and from time to time it
stopped still as a bump while it gazed at some far and suspicious
object. Up one trunk it went like a brown flash, and a moment
later, out, cackling from its top, flew two partridges. Down to
the ground, sinuous, graceful, incessantly active flashed the
marten. Along a log it raced in undulating leaps; in the middle
it stopped as though frozen, to gaze intently into a bed of
sedge; with three billowy bounds its sleek form reached the
sedge, flashed in and out again with a mouse in its snarling
jaws; a side leap now, and another squeaker was squeakless, and
another. The three were slain, then thrown aside, as the brown
terror scanned a flight of ducks passing over. Into a thicket of
willow it disap- peared and out again like an eel going through
the mud, then up a tall stub where woodpecker holes were to be
seen. Into the largest it went so quickly Rolf could scarcely see
how it entered, and out in a few seconds bearing a flying
squirrel whose skull it had crushed. Dropping the squirrel it
leaped after it, and pounced again on the quivering form with a
fearsome growl; then shook it savagely, tore it apart, cast it
aside. Over the ground it now undulated, its shining yellow
breast like a target of gold. Again it stopped. Now in pose
like a pointer, exquisitely graceful, but oh, so wicked! Then
the snaky neck swung the cobra head in the breeze and the brown
one sniffed and sniffed, advanced a few steps, tried the wind and
the ground. Still farther and the concentrated interest showed in
its outstretched neck and quivering tail. Bounding into a
thicket it went, when out of the other side there leaped a
snowshoe rabbit, away and away for dear life. Jump, jump, jump;
twelve feet at every stride, and faster than the eye could
follow, with the marten close behind. What a race it was, and
how they twinkled through the brush! The rabbit is, indeed,
faster, but courage counts for much, and his was low; but luck
and his good stars urged him round to the deer trail crossing of
the stream; once there he could not turn. There was only one
course. He sprang into the open river and swam for his life.
And the marten - why should it go in? It hated the water; it was
not hungry; it was out for sport, and water sport is not to its
liking. It braced its sinewy legs and halted at the very brink,
while bunny crossed to the safe woods.

Back now came Wahpestan, the brown death, over the logs like a
winged snake, skimming the ground like a sinister shadow, and
heading for the cabin as the cabin's owner watched. Passing the
body of the squirrel it paused to rend it again, then diving into
the brush came out so far away and so soon that the watcher
supposed at first that this was another marten. Up the shanty
corner it flashed, hardly appearing to climb, swung that yellow
throat and dark-brown muzzle for a second, then made toward the entry.

Rolf sat with staring eyes as the beautiful demon, elegantly
spurning the roof sods, went at easy, measured bounds toward the
open chink -- toward its doom. One, two, three -- clearing the
prickly cedar bush, its forefeet fell on the hidden trap; clutch,
a savage shriek, a flashing, -- a struggle baffling the eyes to
follow, and the master of the squirrels was himself under
mastery.

Rolf rushed forward now. The little demon in the trap was
frothing with rage and hate; it ground the iron with its teeth;
it shrieked at the human foeman coming.

The scene must end, the quicker the better, and even as the
marten itself had served the flying squirrel and the mice, and as
Quonab served the mink, so Rolf served the marten and the woods
was still.

Snowshoes

That's for Annette," said Rolf, remembering his promise as he
hung the stretched marten skin to dry.

"Yi! Yi! Yi!" came three yelps, just as he had heard them the
day he first met Quonab, and crossing the narrow lake he saw his
partner's canoe.

"We have found the good hunting," he said, as Rolf steadied the
canoe at the landing and Skookum, nearly well again, wagged his
entire ulterior person to welcome the wanderer home. The first
thing to catch the boy's eye was a great, splendid beaver skin
stretched on a willow hoop.

"Ho, ho!" he exclaimed.

"Ugh; found another pond."

"Good, good," said Rolf as he stroked the flrst beaver skin he
had ever seen in the woods.

"This is better," said Quonab, and held up the two barkstones,
castors, or smell-glands that are found in every beaver and which
for some hid reason have an irresistible attraction for all wild
animals. To us the odour is slight, but they have the power of
intensifying, perpetuating, and projecting such odorous
substances as may be mixed with them. No trapper considers his
bait to be perfect without a little of the mysterious castor. So
that that most stenchable thing they had already concocted of
fish-oil, putrescence, sewer-gas, and sunlight, when commingled
and multiplied with the dried-up powder of a castor, was
intensified into a rich, rancid, gas-exhaling hell-broth as
rapturously bewitching to our furry brothers as it is
poisonously nauseating to ourselves -- seductive afar like the
sweetest music, inexorable as fate, insidious as laughing-gas,
soothing and numbing as absinthe -- this, the lure and
caution-luller, is the fellest trick in all the trappers' code.
As deadly as inexplicable, not a few of the states have classed
it with black magic and declared its use a crime.

But no such sentiment prevailed in the high hills of Quonab's
time, and their preparations for a successful trapping season
were nearly perfect. Thirty deadfalls made by Quonab, with the
sixty made on the first trip and a dozen steel traps, were surely
promise of a good haul. It was nearly November now; the fur was
prime; then why not begin? Because the weather was too fine.
You must have frosty weather or the creatures taken in the
deadfalls are spoiled before the trapper can get around.

Already a good, big pile of wood was cut; both shanty and
storeroom were chinked, plugged, and banked for the winter. It
was not safe yet to shoot and store a number of deer, but there
was something they could do. Snowshoes would soon be a necessary
of life; and the more of this finger work they did while the
weather was warm, the better.

Birch and ash are used for frames; the former is less liable to
split, but harder to work. White ash was plentiful on the near
flat, and a small ten-foot log was soon cut and split into a lot
of long laths. Quonab of course took charge; but Rolf followed
in everything. Each took a lath and shaved it down evenly until
an inch wide and three quarters of an inch thick. The exact
middle was marked, and for ten inches at each side of that it was
shaved down to half an inch in thickness. Two flat crossbars,
ten and twelve inches long, were needed and holes to receive
these made half through the frame. The pot was ready boiling and
by using a cord from end to end of each lath they easily bent it
in the middle and brought the wood into touch with the boiling
water. Before an hour the steam had so softened the wood, and
robbed it of spring, that it was easy to make it into any desired
shape. Each lath was cautiously bent round; the crossbars
slipped into their prepared sockets; a temporary lashing of cord
kept all in place; then finally the frames were set on a level
place with the fore end raised two inches and a heavy log put on
the frame to give the upturn to the toe.

Here they were left to dry and the Indian set about preparing
the necessary thongs. A buckskin rolled in wet, hard wood ashes
had been left in the mud hole. Now after a week the hair was
easily scraped off and the hide, cleaned and trimmed of all loose
ends and tags, was spread out -- soft, white, and supple.
Beginning outside, and following round and round the edge, Quonab
cut a thong of rawhide as nearly as possible a quarter inch wide.
This he carried on till there were many yards of it, and the hide
was all used up. The second deer skin was much smaller and
thinner. He sharpened his knife and cut it much finer, at least
half the width of the other. Now they were ready to lace the
shoes, the finer for the fore and back parts, the heavy for the
middle on which the wearer treads. An expert squaw would have
laughed at the rude snowshoes that were finished that day, but
they were strong and serviceable.

Naturally the snowshoes suggested a toboggan. That was easily
made by splitting four thin boards of ash, each six inches wide
and ten feet long. An up-curl was steamed on the prow of each,
and rawhide lashings held all to the crossbars.

Catching a Fox

As to wisdom, a man ain't a spring; he's a tank, an' gives out
only what he gathers" -- Sayings of Si Sylvanne

Quonab would not quit his nightly couch in the canvas lodge so
Rolf and Skookum stayed with him. The dog was himself again, and
more than once in the hours of gloom dashed forth in noisy chase
of something which morning study of the tracks showed to have
been foxes. They were attracted partly by the carrion of the
deer, partly by the general suitability of the sandy beach for a
gambolling place, and partly by a foxy curiosity concerning the
cabin, the hunters, and their dog.

One morning after several night arousings and many raids by
Skookum, Rolf said: "Fox is good now; why shouldn't I add some
fox pelts to that?" and he pointed with some pride to the marten
skin.

"Ugh, good; go ahead; you will learn," was the reply.

So getting out the two fox traps Rolf set to work. Noting where
chiefly the foxes ran or played he chose two beaten pathways and
hid the traps carefully, exactly as he did for the marten; then
selecting a couple of small cedar branches he cut these and laid
them across the path, one on each side of the trap, assuming that
the foxes following the usual route would leap over the boughs
and land in disaster. To make doubly sure he put a piece of meat
by each trap and half-way between them set a large piece on a
stone.

Then he sprinkled fresh earth over the pathways and around each
trap and bait so he should have a record of the tracks.

Foxes came that night, as he learned by the footprints along the
beach, but never one went near his traps. He studied the marks;
they slowly told him all the main facts. The foxes had come as
usual, and frolicked about. They had discovered the bait and the
traps at once -- how could such sharp noses miss them -- and as
quickly noted that the traps were suspicious-smelling iron
things, that manscent, hand, foot, and body, were very evident
all about; that the only inducement to go forward was some meat
which was coarse and cold, not for a moment to be compared with
the hot juicy mouse meat that abounded in every meadow. The
foxes were well fed and unhungry. Why should they venture into
such evident danger? In a word, walls of stone could not have
more completely protected the ground and the meat from the foxes
than did the obvious nature of the traps; not a track was near,
and many afar showed how quickly they had veered off.

"Ugh, it is always so," said Quonab. "Will you try again? "

"Yes, I will, " replied Rolf, remembering now that he had omitted
to deodorize his traps and his boots.

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