Rolf In The Woods

S >> Seton >> Rolf In The Woods

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22

So now they had a wash pan and a cause of friction was removed.
Rolf found it amusing as well as useful to make other bark
vessels of varying sizes for dippers and dunnage. It was work
that he could do now while he was resting and recovering and he
became expert. After watching a fairly successful attempt at a
box to hold fish-hooks and tackle, Quonab said: "In my father's
lodge these would bear quill work in colours."

"That's so," said Rolf, remembering the birch-bark goods often
sold by the Indians. "I wish we had a porcupine now."

"Maybe Skookum could find one," said the Indian, with a smile.

"Will you let me kill the next Kahk we find?"

"Yes, if you use the quills and burn its whiskers."

"Why burn its whiskers?"

"My father said it must be so. The smoke goes straight to the
All-above; then the Manito knows we have killed, but we have
remembered to kill only for use and to thank Him."

It was some days before they found a porcupine, and when they
did, it was not necessary for them to kill it. But that belongs
to another chapter.

They saved its skin with all its spears and hung it in the
storehouse. The quills with the white bodies and ready- made
needle at each end are admirable for embroidering, but they are
white only.

"How can we dye them, Quonab?

"In the summer are many dyes; in winter they are hard to get. We
can get some."

So forth he went to a hemlock tree, and cut till he could gather
the inner pink bark, which, boiled with the quills, turned them a
dull pink; similarly, alder bark furnished rich orange, and
butternut bark a brown. Oak chips, with a few bits of iron in
the pot, dyed black.

"Must wait till summer for red and green," said the Indian. "Red
comes only from berries; the best is the blitum. We call it
squaw-berry and mis-caw-wa, yellow comes from the yellow root
(Hydrastis).

But black, white, orange, pink, brown, and a dull red made by a
double dip of orange and pink, are a good range of colour. The
method in using the quills is simple. An awl to make holes in
the bark for each; the rough parts behind are concealed afterward
with a lining of bark stitched over them; and before the winter
was over, Rolf had made a birch-bark box, decorated lid and all,
with por- cupine quill work, in which he kept the sable skin that
was meant to buy Annette's new dress, the costume she had dreamed
of, the ideal and splendid, almost unbelievable vision of her
young life, ninety-five cents' worth of cotton print.

There was one other point of dangerous friction. Whenever it
fell to Quonab to wash the dishes, he simply set them on the
ground and let Skookum lick them off. This economical
arrangement was satisfactory to Quonab, delightful to Skookum,
and apparently justified by the finished product, but Rolf
objected. The Indian said: "Don't he eat the same food as we do?
You cannot tell if you do not see."

Whenever he could do so, Rolf washed the doubtful dishes over
again, yet there were many times when this was impossible, and
the situation became very irritating. But he knew that the man
who loses his temper has lost the first round of the fight, so,
finding the general idea of uncleanness without avail, he sought
for some purely Indian argument. As they sat by the evening fire,
one day, he led up to talk of his mother -- of her power as a
medicine woman, of the many evil medicines that harmed her. "It
was evil medicine for her if a dog licked her hand or touched
her food. A dog licked her hand and the dream dog came to her
three days before she died." After a long pause, he added, "In
some ways I am like my mother."

Two days later, Rolf chanced to see his friend behind the shanty
give Skookum the pan to clean off after they had been frying deer
fat. The Indian had no idea that Rolf was near, nor did he ever
learn the truth of it.

That night, after midnight, the lad rose quietly, lighted the
pine splints that served them for a torch, rubbed some charcoal
around each eye to make dark rings that should supply a
horror-stricken look. Then he started in to pound on Quonab's
tom-tom, singing:

"Evil spirit leave me;
Dog-face do not harm me."

Quonab sat up in amazement. Rolf paid no heed, but went on,
bawling and drumming and staring upward into vacant space. After
a few minutes Skookum scratched and whined at the shanty door.
Rolf rose, took his knife, cut a bunch of hair from Skookum's
neck and burned it in the torch, then went on singing with horrid
solemnity:

"Evil spirit leave me;
Dog-face do not harm me."

At last he turned, and seeming to discover that Quonab was
looking on, said:

"The dream dog came to me. I thought I saw him lick deer grease
from the frying pan behind the shanty. He laughed, for he knew
that he made evil medicine for me. I am trying to drive him away,
so he cannot harm me. I do not know. I am like my mother. She
was very wise, but she died after it."

Now Quonab arose, cut some more hair from Skookum, added a pinch
of tobacco, then, setting it ablaze, he sang in the rank odour of
the burning weed and hair, his strongest song to kill ill magic;
and Rolf, as he chuckled and sweetly sank to sleep, knew that the
fight was won. His friend would never, never more install Skookum
in the high and sacred post of pot-licker, dishwasher, or final polisher.

Snaring Rabbits

The deepening snow about the cabin was marked in all the thickets
by the multitudinous tracks of the snowshoe rabbits or white
hares. Occasionally the hunters saw them, but paid little heed.
Why should they look at rabbits when deer were plentiful?

"You catch rabbit?" asked Quonab one day when Rolf was feeling
fit again.

"I can shoot one with my bow," was the answer, "but why should I,
when we have plenty of deer?"

"My people always hunted rabbits. Sometimes no deer were to be
found; then the rabbits were food. Sometimes in the enemy's
country it was not safe to hunt, except rabbits, with blunt
arrows, and they were food. Sometimes only squaws and children in
camp -- nothing to eat; no guns; then the rabbits were food."

"Well, see me get one," and Rolf took his bow and arrow. He
found many white bunnies, but always in the thickest woods.
Again and again he tried, but the tantalizing twigs and branches
muffled the bow and turned the arrow. It was hours before he
returned with a fluffy snowshoe rabbit.

"That is not our way." Quonab led to the thicket and selecting a
place of many tracks he cut a lot of brush and made a hedge
across with half a dozen openings. At each of these openings he
made a snare of strong cord tied to a long pole, hung on a
crotch, and so arranged that a tug at the snare would free the
pole which in turn would hoist the snare and the creature in it
high in the air.

Next morning they went around and found that four of the snares
had each a snow-white rabbit hanging by the neck. As he was
handling these, Quonab felt a lump I on the hind leg of one. He
carefully cut it open and turned out a curious-looking object
about the size of an acorn, flattened, made of flesh and covered
with hair, and nearly the shape of a large bean. He gazed at it,
and, turning to Rolf, said with intense meaning:

"Ugh! we have found the good hunting. This is the
Peeto-wab-oos-once, the little medicine rabbit. Now we have
strong medicine in the lodge. You shall see."

He went out to the two remaining snares and passed the medicine
rabbit through each. An hour later, when they retumed, they
found a rabbit taken in the first snare.

"It is ever so," said the Indian. "We can always catch rabbits
now. My father had the Peeto-wab-i-ush once, the little medicine
deer, and so he never failed in hunting but twice. Then he found
that his papoose, Quonab, had stolen his great medcine. He was a
very wise papoose. He killed a chipmunk each of those days."

"Hark! what is that?" A faint sound of rustling branches, and
some short animal noises in the woods had caught Rolf's ear, and
Skookum's, too, for he was off like one whose life is bound up in
a great purpose.

"Yap, yap, yap," came the angry sound from Skookum. Who can say
that animals have no language? His merry "yip, yip, yip," for
partridge up a tree, or his long, hilarious, "Yow, yow, yow,"
when despite all orders he chased some deer, were totally
distinct from the angry "Yap, yap," he gave for the bear up the
tree, or the "Grrryapgrryap," with which he voiced his hatred of
the porcupine.

But now it was the "Yap, yap," as when he had treed the bears.

"Something up a tree," was the Indian's interpretation, as they
followed the sound. Something up a tree! A whole menagerie it
seemed to Rolf when they got there. Hanging by the neck in the
remaining snare, and limp now, was a young lynx, a kit of the
year. In the adjoining tree, with Skookum circling and yapping
'round the base, was a savage old lynx. In the crotch above her
was another young one, and still higher was a third, all looking
their unutterable disgust at the noisy dog below; the mother,
indeed, expressing it in occasional hisses, but none of them
daring to come down and face him. The lynx is very good fur and
very easy prey. The Indian brought the old one down with a shot;
then, as fast as he could reload, the others were added to the
bag, and, with the one from the snare, they returned laden to the
cabin.

The Indian's eyes shone with a peculiar light. "Ugh! Ugh! My
father told me; it is great medicine. You see, now, it does not
fail.

Something Wrong at the Beaver Traps

Once they had run the trap lines, and their store of furs
was increasing finely. They had taken twenty-five beavers and
counted on getting two or three each time they went to the ponds.
But they got an unpleasant surprise in December, on going to the
beaver grounds, to find all the traps empty and unmistakable
signs that some man had been there and had gone off with the
catch. They followed the dim trail of his snowshoes, half hidden
by a recent wind, but night came on with more snow, and all signs
were lost.

The thief had not found the line yet, for the haul of marten and
mink was good. But this was merely the beginning.

The trapper law of the wilderness is much like all primitive
laws; first come has first right, provided he is able to hold it.
If a strong rival comes in, the first must fight as best he can.
The law justifies him in anything he may do, if he succeeds. The
law justifies the second in anything he may do, except murder.
That is, the defender may shoot to kill; the offender may not.

But the fact of Quonab's being an Indian and Rolf supposedly one,
would turn opinion against them in the Adirondacks, and it was
quite likely that the rival considered them trespassers on his
grounds, although the fact that he robbed their traps without
removing them, and kept out of sight, rather showed the guilty
conscience of a self-accused poacher.

He came in from the west, obviously; probably the Racquet River
country; was a large man, judging by his foot and stride, and
understood trapping; but lazy, for he set no traps. His
principal object seemed to be to steal.

And it was not long before he found their line of marten traps,
so his depredations increased. Primitive emotions are near the
surface at all times, and under primitive conditions are very
ready to appear. Rolf and Quonab felt that now it was war.

The Pekan or Fisher

There was one large track in the snow that they saw several times
-- it was like that of a marten, but much larger. "Pekan," said
the Indian, "the big marten; the very strong one, that fights
without fear."

"When my father was a papoose he shot an arrow at a pekan. He
did not know what it was; it seemed only a big black marten. It
was wounded, but sprang from the tree on my father's breast. It
would have killed him, but for the dog; then it would have killed
the dog, but my grandfather was near.

"He made my father eat the pekan's heart, so his heart might be
like it. It sought no fight, but it turned, when struck, and
fought without fear. That is the right way; seek peace, but
fight without fear. That was my father's heart and mine." Then
glancing toward the west he continued in a tone of menace: "That
trap robber will find it so. We sought no fight, but some day I
kill him."

The big track went in bounds, to be lost in a low, thick woods.
But they met it again.

They were crossing a hemlock ridge a mile farther on, when they
came to another track which was first a long, deep furrow, some
fifteen inches wide, and in this were the wide-spread prints of
feet as large as those of a fisher.

"Kahk," said Quonab, and Skookum said "Kahk," too, but he did it
by growling and raising his back hair, and doubtless also by
sadly remembering. His discretion seemed as yet embryonic, so
Rolf slipped his sash through the dog's collar, and they followed
the track, for the porcupine now stood in Rolf's mind as a sort
of embroidery outfit.

They had not followed far before another track joined on -- the
track of the fisher-pekan; and soon after they heard in the woods
ahead scratching sounds, as of something climbing, and once or
twice a faint, far, fighting snarl.

Quickly tying the over-valiant Skookum to a tree, they crept
forward, ready for anything, and arrived on the scene of a very
peculiar action.

Action it was, though it was singularly devoid of action. First,
there was a creature, like a huge black marten or a short-legged
black fox, standing at a safe distance, while, partly hidden
under a log, with hind quarters and tail only exposed, was a
large porcupine. Both were very still, but soon the fisher
snarled and made a forward lunge. The porcupine, hearing the
sounds or feeling the snow dash up on that side, struck with its
tail; but the fisher kept out of reach. Next a feint was made on
the other side, with the same result; then many, as though the
fisher were trying to tire out the tail or use up all its quills.

Sometimes the assailant leaped on the log and teased the
quill-pig to strike upward, while many white daggers already sunk
in the bark showed that these tactics had been going on for some
time.

Now the two spectators saw by the trail that a similar battle had
been fought at another log, and that the porcupine trail from
that was spotted with blood. How the fisher had forced it out
was not then clear, but soon became so.

After feinting till the Kahk would not strike, the pekan began a
new manceuvre. Starting on the opposite side of the log that
protected the spiny one's nose, he burrowed quickly through the
snow and leaves. The log was about three inches from the ground,
and before the porcupine could realize it, the fisher had a
space cleared and seized the spiny one by its soft, unspiny nose.
Grunting and squealing it pulled back and lashed its terrible
tail. To what effect? Merely to fill the log around with quills.
With all its strength the quill-pig pulled and writhed, but the
fisher was stronger. His claws enlarged the hole and when the
victim ceased from exhaustion, the fisher made a forward dash and
changed his hold from the tender nose to the still more tender
throat of the porcupine. His hold was not deep enough and square
enough to seize the windpipe, but he held on. For a minute or
two the struggles of Kahk were of desperate energy and its
lashing tail began to be short of spines, but a red stream
trickling from the wound was sapping its strength. Protected by
the log, the fisher had but to hold on and play a waiting game.

The heaving and backward pulling of Kahk were very feeble at
length; the fisher had nearly finished the fight. But he was
impatient of further delay and backing out of the hole he mounted
the log, displaying a much scratched nose; then reaching down
with deft paw, near the quill-pig's shoulder, he gave a sudden
jerk that threw the former over on its back, and before it could
recover, the fisher's jaws closed on its ribs, and crushed and
tore. The nerveless, almost quilless tail could not harm him
there. The red blood flowed and the porcupine lay still. Again
and again as he uttered chesty growls the pekan ground his teeth
into the warm flesh and shook and worried the unconquerable one
he had conquered. He was licking his bloody chops for the
twentieth time, gloating in gore, when "crack" went Quonab's gun,
and the pekan had an opportunity of resuming the combat with
Kahk far away in the Happy Hunting.

"Yap, yap, yap!" and in rushed Skookum, dragging the end of
Rolf's sash which he had gnawed through in his determination to
be in the fight, no matter what it cost; and it was entirely due
to the fact that the porcupine was belly up, that Skookum did not
have another hospital experience.

This was Rolf's first sight of a fisher, and he examined it as
one does any animal -- or man -- that one has so long heard
described in superlative terms that it has become idealized into
a semi-myth. This was the desperado of the woods; the weird
black cat that feared no living thing. This was the only one that
could fight and win against Kahk.

They made a fire at once, and while Rolf got the mid-day meal of
tea and venison, Quonab skinned the fisher. Then he cut out its
heart and liver. When these were cooked he gave the first to
Rolf and the second to Skookum, saying to the one, "I give you a
pekan heart;" and to the dog, "That will force all of the quills
out of you if you play the fool again, as I think you will."

In the skin of the fisher's neck and tail they found several
quills, some of them new, some of them dating evidently from
another fight of the same kind, but none of them had done any
damage. There was no inflammation or sign of poisoning. "It is
ever so," said Quonab, "the quills cannot hurt him." Then,
turning to the porcupine, he remarked, as he prepared to skin it:

"Ho, Kahk! you see now it was a big mistake you did not let Nana
Bojou sit on the dry end of that log."

The Silver Fox

They were returning to the cabin, one day, when Quonab stopped
and pointed. Away off on the snow of the far shore was a moving
shape to be seen.

"Fox, and I think silver fox; he so black. I think he lives
there."

"Why?" "I have seen many times a very big fox track, and they
do not go where they do not live. Even in winter they keep their
own range."

"He's worth ten martens, they say?" queried Rolf.

"Ugh! fifty."

"Can't we get him?"

"Can try. But the water set will not work in winter; we must try
different."

This was the plan, the best that Quonab could devise for the
snow: Saving the ashes from the fire (dry sand would have
answered), he selected six open places in the woods on the south
of the lake, and in each made an ash bed on which he scattered
three or four drops of the smell-charm. Then, twenty-five yards
from each, on the north or west side (the side of the prevailing
wind) he hung from some sapling a few feathers, a partridge wing
or tail with some red yarns to it. He left the places unvisited
for two weeks, then returned to learn the progress of act one.

Judging from past experience of fox nature and from the few signs
that were offered by the snow, this is what had happened: A fox
came along soon after the trappers left, followed the track a
little way, came to the first opening, smelled the seductive
danger-lure, swung around it, saw the dangling feathers, took
alarm, and went off. Another of the places had been visited by a
marten. He had actually scratched in the ashes. A wolf had gone
around another at a safe distance.

Another had been shunned several times by a fox or by foxes, but
they had come again and again and at last yielded to the
temptation to investigate the danger-smell; finally had rolled in
it, evidently wallowing in an abandon of delight. So far, the
plan was working there.

The next move was to set the six strong fox traps, each
thoroughly smoked, and chained to a fifteen-pound block of wood.

Approaching the place carefully and using his blood-rubbed
glove, Quonab set in each ash pile a trap. Under its face he put
a wad of white rabbit fur. Next he buried all in the ashes,
scattered a few bits of rabbit and a few drops of smell-charm,
then dashed snow over the place, renewed the dangling feathers to
lure the eye; and finally left the rest to the weather.

Rolf was keen to go the next day, but the old man said: "Wah! no
good! no trap go first night; man smell too strong." The second
day there was a snowfall, and the third morning Quonab said, "Now
seem like good time."

The first trap was untouched, but there was clearly the track of
a large fox within ten yards of it.

The second was gone. Quonab said, with surprise in his voice,
"Deer!" Yes, truly, there was the record. A deer -- a big one --
had come wandering past; his keen nose soon apprised him of a
strong, queer appeal near by. He had gone unsuspiciously toward
it, sniffed and pawed the unaccountable and exciting nose
medicine; then "snap!" and he had sprung a dozen feet, with that
diabolic smell-thing hanging to his foot. Hop, hop, hop, the
terrified deer had gone into a slashing windfall. Then the drag
had caught on the logs, and, thanks to the hard and taper hoofs,
the trap had slipped off and been left behind, while the deer had
sought safer regions.

In the next trap they found a beautiful marten dead, killed at
once by the clutch of steel. The last trap was gone, but the
tracks and the marks told a tale that any one could read; a fox
had been beguiled and had gone off, dragging the trap and log.
Not far did they need to go; held in a thicket they found him,
and Rolf prepared the mid-day meal while Quonab gathered the
pelt. After removing the skin the Indian cut deep and carefully
into the body of the fox and removed the bladder. Its contents
sprinkled near each of the traps was good medicine, he said; a
view that was evidently shared by Skookum.

More than once they saw the track of the big fox of the region,
but never very near the snare. He was too clever to be fooled by
smell-spells or kidney products, no matter how temptingly
arrayed. The trappers did, indeed, capture three red foxes; but
it was at cost of great labour. It was a venture that did not
pay. The silver fox was there, but he took too good care of his
precious hide. The slightest hint of a man being near was enough
to treble his already double wariness. They would never have
seen him near at hand, but for a stirring episode that told a
tale of winter hardship.

The Humiliation of Skookum

If Skookum could have been interviewed by a newspaper man, he
would doubtless have said: "I am a very remarkable dog. I can
tree partridges. I'm death on porcupines. I am pretty good in a
dog fight; never was licked in fact: but my really marvellous
gift is my speed; I'm a terror to run."

Yes, he was very proud of his legs, and the foxes that came about
in the winter nights gave him many opportunities of showing what
he could do. Many times over he very nearly caught a fox.
Skookum did not know that these wily ones were playing with him;
but they were, and enjoyed it immensely.

The self-sufficient cur never found this out, and never lost a
chance of nearly catching a fox. The men did not see those
autumn chases because they were by night; but foxes hunt much by
day in winter, perforce, and are often seen; and more than once
they witnessed one of these farcical races.

And now the shining white furnished background for a much more
important affair.

It was near sundown one day when a faint fox bark was heard out
on the snow-covered ice of the lake.

"That's for me," Skookum seemed to think, and jumping up, with a
very fierce growl, he trotted forth; the men looked first from
the window. Out on the snow, sitting on his haunches, was their
friend, the big, black silver fox.

Quonab reached for his gun and Rolf tried to call Skookum, but it
was too late. He was out to catch that fox; their business was
to look on and applaud. The fox sat on his haunches, grinning
apparently, until Skookum dashed through the snow within twenty
yards. Then, that shining, black fox loped gently away, his huge
tail level out behind him, and Skookum, sure of success, raced
up, within six or seven yards. A few more leaps now, and the
victory would be won. But somehow he could not close that six or
seven yard gap. No matter how he strained and leaped, the great
black brush was just so far ahead. At first they had headed for
the shore, but the fox wheeled back to the ice and up and down.
Skookum felt it was because escape was hopeless, and he redoubled
his effort. But all in vain. He was only wearing himself out,
panting noisily now. The snow was deep enough to be a great
disadvantage, more to dog than to fox, since weight counted as
such a handicap. Unconsciously Skookum slowed up. The fox
increased his headway; then audaciously turned around and sat
down in the snow.

This was too much for the dog. He wasted about a lungful of air
in an angry bark, and again went after the enemy. Again the
chase was round and round, but very soon the dog was so wearied
that he sat down, and now the black fox actually came back and
barked at him.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22