ROLF IN THE WOODS

By Ernest Thompson Seton

[Chapters 10 and 60 not designated in the original file. ]

Preface

In this story I have endeavoured to realize some of the influences thatsurrounded the youth of America a hundred years ago, and made of them, first, good citizens, and, later, in the day of peril, heroes that wonthe battles of Lake Erie, Plattsburg, and New Orleans, and the great seafights of Porter, Bainbridge, Decatur, Lawrence, Perry, and MacDonough. 

I have especially dwelt in detail on the woodland and peace scoutingin the hope that I may thus help other boys to follow the hard-climbingtrail that leads to the higher uplands. 

For the historical events of 1812-14, I have consulted among bookschiefly, Theodore Roosevelt's "Naval War of 1812, " Peter S. Palmer's"History of Lake Champlain, " and Walter Hill Crockett's "A History ofLake Champlain, " 1909. But I found another and more personal mine ofinformation. Through the kindness of my friend, Edmund Seymour, a nativeof the Champlain region, now a resident of New York, I went over all thehistorical ground with several unpublished manuscripts for guides, andheard from the children of the sturdy frontiersmen new tales of thewar; and in getting more light and vivid personal memories, I was glad, indeed, to realize that not only were there valour and heroism on bothsides, but also gentleness and courtesy. Histories written by eitherparty at the time should be laid aside. They breathe the rancouroushate of the writers of the age--the fighters felt not so--and themany incidents given here of chivalry and consideration were actualhappenings, related to me by the descendants of those who experiencedthem; and all assure me that these were a true reflex of the feelings ofthe day. 

I am much indebted to Miss Katherine Palmer, of Plattsburg, for kindlyallowing me to see the unpublished manuscript memoir of her grandfather, Peter Sailly, who was Collector of the Port of Plattsburg at the time ofthe war. 

Another purpose in this story was to picture the real Indian with hismessage for good or for evil. 

Those who know nothing of the race will scoff and say they never heardof such a thing as a singing and religious red man. Those who know himwell will say, "Yes, but you have given to your eastern Indian songsand ceremonies which belong to the western tribes, and which are ofdifferent epochs. " To the latter I reply:

"You know that the western Indians sang and prayed in this way. How doyou know that the eastern ones did not? We have no records, exceptthose by critics, savagely hostile, and contemptuous of all religiousobservances but their own. The Ghost Dance Song belonged to a much morerecent time, no doubt, but it was purely Indian, and it is generallyadmitted that the races of continental North America were of one stock, and had no fundamentally different customs or modes of thought. "

The Sunrise Song was given me by Frederick R. Burton, author of"American Primitive Music. " It is still in use among the Ojibwa. 

The songs of the Wabanaki may be read in C. G. Leland's "Kuloskap theMaster. "

The Ghost Dance Song was furnished by Alice C. Fletcher, whose "IndianSong and Story" will prove a revelation to those who wish to followfurther. 

ERNEST THOMPSON SETON. 

Chapter 1. The Wigwam Under the Rock

The early springtime sunrise was near at hand as Quonab, the last of theMyanos Sinawa, stepped from his sheltered wigwam under the cliff thatborders the Asamuk easterly, and, mounting to the lofty brow of thegreat rock that is its highest pinnacle, he stood in silence, awaitingthe first ray of the sun over the sea water that stretches betweenConnecticut and Seawanaky. 

His silent prayer to the Great Spirit was ended as a golden beam shotfrom a long, low cloud-bank over the sea, and Quonab sang a weird Indiansong for the rising sun, an invocation to the Day God:

 "O thou that risest from the low cloud To burn in the all above; I greet thee! I adore thee!"

Again and again he sang to the tumming of a small tom-tom, till thegreat refulgent one had cleared the cloud, and the red miracle of thesunrise was complete. Back to his wigwam went the red man, down to hishome tucked dosed under the sheltering rock, and, after washing hishands in a basswood bowl, began to prepare his simple meal. 

A tin-lined copper pot hanging over the fire was partly filled withwater; then, when it was boiling, some samp or powdered corn and someclams were stirred in. While these were cooking, he took his smooth-boreflint-lock, crawled gently over the ridge that screened his wigwam fromthe northwest wind, and peered with hawk-like eyes across the broadsheet of water that, held by a high beaver-dam, filled the little valleyof Asamuk Brook. 

The winter ice was still on the pond, but in all the warming shallowsthere was open water, on which were likely to be ducks. None were to beseen, but by the edge of the ice was a round object which, although sofar away, he knew at a glance for a muskrat. 

By crawling around the pond, the Indian could easily have come withinshot, but he returned at once to his wigwam, where he exchanged his gunfor the weapons of his fathers, a bow and arrows, and a long fish-line. A short, quick stalk, and the muskrat, still eating a flagroot, waswithin thirty feet. The fish-line was coiled on the ground and thenattached to an arrow, the bow bent--zip--the arrow picked up the line, coil after coil, and trans-fixed the muskrat. Splash! and the animal wasgone under the ice. 

But the cord was in the hands of the hunter; a little gentle pulling andthe rat came to view, to be despatched with a stick and secured. Had heshot it with a gun, it had surely been lost. 

He returned to his camp, ate his frugal breakfast, and fed a small, wolfish-looking yellow dog that was tied in the lodge. 

He skinned the muskrat carefully, first cutting a slit across the rearand then turning the skin back like a glove, till it was off to thesnout; a bent stick thrust into this held it stretched, till in a day, it was dry and ready for market. The body, carefully cleaned, he hung inthe shade to furnish another meal. 

As he worked, there were sounds of trampling in the woods, andpresently a tall, rough-looking man, with a red nose and a curling whitemoustache, came striding through brush and leaves. He stopped whenhe saw the Indian, stared contemptuously at the quarry of the morningchase, made a scornful remark about "rat-eater, " and went on toward thewigwam, probably to peer in, but the Indian's slow, clear, "keep away!"changed his plan. He grumbled something about "copper-coloured tramp, "and started away in the direction of the nearest farmhouse. 

Chapter 2. Rolf Kittering and the Soldier Uncle

 A feller that chatters all the time is bound to talk a certain amount of drivel. --The Sayings of Si Sylvanne

This was the Crow Moon, the white man's March. The Grass Moon was athand, and already the arrow bands of black-necked honkers were passingnorthward from the coast, sending down as they flew the glad tidingsthat the Hunger Moon was gone, that spring was come, yea, even now wasin the land. And the flicker clucked from a high, dry bough, the spottedwoodwale drummed on his chosen branch, the partridge drummed in the pinewoods, and in the sky the wild ducks, winging, drummed their way. Whatwonder that the soul of the Indian should seek expression in the drumand the drum song of his race?

Presently, as though remembering something, he went quietly to thesouthward under the ridge, just where it breaks to let the brook go by, along the edge of Strickland's Plain, and on that hill of sliding stonehe found, as he always had, the blue-eyed liver-leaf smiling, the firstsweet flower of spring! He did not gather it, he only sat down andlooked at it. He did not smile, or sing, or utter words, or give ita name, but he sat beside it and looked hard at it, and, in the firstplace, he went there knowingly to find it. Who shall say that its beautydid not reach his soul?

He took out his pipe and tobacco bag, but was reminded of somethinglacking--the bag was empty. He returned to his wigwam, and from theirsafe hanger or swinging shelf overhead, he took the row of stretchedskins, ten muskrats and one mink, and set out along a path which ledsouthward through the woods to the broad, open place called Strickland'sPlain, across that, and over the next rock ridge to the little town andport of Myanos. 

 SILAS PECK Trading Store

was the sign over the door he entered. Men and women were buying andselling, but the Indian stood aside shyly until all were served, andMaster Peck cried out:

"Ho, Quonab! what have ye got for trade to-day?"

Quonab produced his furs. The dealer looked at them narrowly and said:

"They are too late in the season for primes; I cannot allow you morethan seven cents each for the rats and seventy-five cents for the mink, all trade. "

The Indian gathered up the bundle with an air of "that settles it, " whenSilas called out:

"Come now, I'll make it ten cents for the rats. "

"Ten cents for rats, one dollar for mink, all cash, then I buy what Ilike, " was the reply. 

It was very necessary to Silas's peace that no customer of his shouldcross the street to the sign, SILAS MEAD Trading Store

So the bargain, a fair one now, was made, and the Indian went off with astock of tobacco, tea, and sugar. 

His way lay up the Myanos River, as he had one or two traps set alongthe banks for muskrats, although in constant danger of having themrobbed or stolen by boys, who considered this an encroachment on theirtrapping grounds. 

After an hour he came to Dumpling Pond, then set out for his home, straight through the woods, till he reached the Catrock line, andfollowing that came to the farm and ramshackle house of Micky Kittering. He had been told that the man at this farm had a fresh deer hide forsale, and hoping to secure it, Quonab walked up toward the house. Mickywas coming from the barn when he saw the Indian. They recognized eachother at a glance. That was enough for Quonab; he turned away. Thefarmer remembered that he had been "insulted. " He vomited a few oaths, and strode after the Indian, "To take it out of his hide"; his purposewas very clear. The Indian turned quickly, stood, and looked calmly atMichael. 

Some men do not know the difference between shyness and cowardice, butthey are apt to find it out unexpectedly Something told the white man, "Beware! this red man is dangerous. " He muttered something about, "Getout of that, or I'll send for a constable. " The Indian stood gazingcoldly, till the farmer backed off out of sight, then he himself turnedaway to the woods. 

Kittering was not a lovely character. He claimed to have been a soldier. He certainly looked the part, for his fierce white moustache was curledup like horns on his purple face, at each side of his red nose, ina most milita style. His shoulders were square and his gait wasswaggering, beside which, he had an array of swear words that was newand tremendously impressive in Connecticut. He had married late in lifea woman who would have made him a good wife, had he allowed her. But, adrunkard himself he set deliberately about bringing his wife to his ownways and with most lamentable success. They had had no children, butsome months before a brother's child, fifteen-year-old lad, had becomea charge on their hands and, with any measure of good management, wouldhave been a blessing to all. But Micky had gone too far. His originalweak good-nature was foundered in rum. Always blustery and frothy, hedivided the world in two--superior officers, before whom he grovelled, and inferiors to whom he was a mouthy, foul-tongued, contemptible bully, in spite of a certain lingering kindness of heart that showed itself atsuch rare times when he was neither roaring drunk nor crucified by blackreaction. His brother's child, fortunately, had inherited little of thepaternal family traits, but in both body and brain favoured his mother, the daughter of a learned divine who had spent unusual pains on her bookeducation, but had left her penniless and incapable of changing thatcondition. 

Her purely mental powers and peculiarities were such that, a hundredyears before, she might have been burned for a witch, and fifty yearslater might have been honoured as a prophetess. But she missed the crestof the wave both ways and fell in the trough; her views on religiousmatters procured neither a witch's grave nor a prophet's crown, but asort of village contempt. 

The Bible was her standard--so far so good--but she emphasized the wrongparts of it. Instead of magnifying the damnation of those who follow notthe truth (as the village understood it), she was content to semi-quote:

"Those that are not against me are with me, " and "A kind heart is themark of His chosen. " And then she made a final utterance, an echo reallyof her father: "If any man do anything sincerely, believing that therebyhe is worshipping God, he is worshipping God. "

Then her fate was sealed, and all who marked the blazing eyes, thehollow cheeks, the yet more hollow chest and cough, saw in it all thehand of an offended God destroying a blasphemer, and shook their headsknowingly when the end came. 

So Rolf was left alone in life, with a common school education, athorough knowledge of the Bible and of "Robinson Crusoe, " a vaguetradition of God everywhere, and a deep distrust of those who shouldhave been his own people. 

The day of the little funeral he left the village of Redding to trampover the unknown road to the unknown south where his almost unknownUncle Michael had a farm and, possibly, a home for him. 

Fifteen miles that day, a night's rest in a barn, twenty-five miles thenext day, and Rolf had found his future home. 

"Come in, lad, " was the not unfriendly reception, for his arrivalwas happily fallen on a brief spell of good humour, and a strong, fifteen-year-old boy is a distinct asset on a farm. 

Chapter 3. Rolf Catches a Coon and Finds a Friend

Aunt Prue, sharp-eyed and red-nosed, was actually shy at first, butall formality vanished as Rolf was taught the mysteries of pig-feeding, hen-feeding, calf-feeding, cow-milking, and launched by list only ina vast number of duties familiar to him from his babyhood. What a listthere was. An outsider might have wondered if Aunt Prue was savinganything for herself, but Rolf was used to toil. He worked withoutceasing and did his best, only to learn in time that the best could winno praise, only avert punishment. The spells of good nature arrived moreseldom in his uncle's heart. His aunt was a drunken shrew and soon Rolflooked on the days of starving and physical misery with his mother asthe days of his happy youth gone by. 

He was usually too tired at night and too sleepy in the morning to sayhis prayers, and gradually he gave it up as a daily habit. The more hesaw of his kinsfolk, the more wickedness came to view; and yet it waswith a shock that he one day realized that some fowls his uncle broughthome by night were there without the owner's knowledge or consent. Mickymade a jest of it, and intimated that Rolf would have to "learn to donight work very soon. " This was only one of the many things that showedhow evil a place was now the orphan's home. 

At first it was not clear to the valiant uncle whether the silent boywas a superior to be feared, or an inferior to be held in fear, butMick's courage grew with non-resistance, and blows became frequent;although not harder to bear than the perpetual fault-finding andscolding of his aunt, and all the good his mother had implanted wasbeing shrivelled by the fires of his daily life. 

Rolf had no chance to seek for companions at the village store, but anaccident brought one to him. Before sunrise one spring morning he went, as usual, to the wood lot pasture for the cow, and was surprised to finda stranger, who beckoned him to come. On going near he saw a tallman with dark skin and straight black hair that was streaked withgray--undoubtedly an Indian. He held up a bag and said, "I got coonin that hole. You hold bag there, I poke him in. " Rolf took the sackreadily and held it over the hole, while the Indian climbed the tree toa higher opening, then poked in this with a long pole, till all at oncethere was a scrambling noise and the bag bulged full and heavy. Rolfclosed its mouth triumphantly. The Indian laughed lightly, then swung tothe ground. 

"Now, what will you do with him?" asked Rolf. 

"Train coon dog, " was the answer. 

"Where?"

The Indian pointed toward the Asamuk Pond. 

"Are you the singing Indian that lives under Ab's Rock?

"Ugh! [*] Some call me that. My name is Quonab. "

"Wait for an hour and then I will come and help, " volunteered Rolfimpulsively, for the hunting instinct was strong in him. 

The Indian nodded. "Give three yelps if you no find me;" then heshouldered a short stick, from one end of which, at a safe distance fromhis back, hung the bag with the coon. And Rolf went home with the cow. 

He had acted on hasty impulse in offering to come, but now, in thenormal storm state of the household, the difficulties of the courseappeared. He cudgelled his brain for some plan to account for hisabsence, and finally took refuge unwittingly in ancient wisdom: "Whenyou don't know a thing to do, don't do a thing. " Also, "If you can'tfind the delicate way, go the blunt way. "

So having fed the horses, cleaned the stable, and milked the cow, fedthe pigs, the hens, the calf, harnessed the horses, cut and brought inwood for the woodshed, turned out the sheep, hitched the horses to thewagon, set the milk out in the creaming pans, put more corn to soak forthe swill barrel, ground the house knife, helped to clear the breakfastthings, replaced the fallen rails of a fence, brought up potatoes fromthe root cellar, all to the maddening music of a scolding tongue, he setout to take the cow back to the wood lot, sullenly resolved to returnwhen ready. 

 * Ugh (yes) and wah (no) are Indianisms that continue no matter how well the English has been acquired. 

Chapter 4. The Coon Hunt Makes Trouble for Rolf

Not one hour, but nearly three, had passed before Rolf sighted thePipestave Pond, as it was called. He had never been there before, butthree short whoops, as arranged, brought answer and guidance. Quonab wasstanding on the high rock. When Rolf came he led down to the wigwam onits south side. It was like stepping into a new life. Several of theold neighbours at Redding were hunters who knew the wild Indians and hadtold him tales that glorified at least the wonderful woodcraft of thered man. Once or twice Rolf had seen Indians travelling through, and hehad been repelled by their sordid squalour. But here was something ofa different kind; not the Champlain ideal, indeed, for the Indian woreclothes like any poor farmer, except on his head and his feet; his headwas bare, and his feet were covered with moccasins that sparkled withbeads on the arch. The wigwam was of canvas, but it had one or twoof the sacred symbols painted on it. The pot hung over the fire wastin-lined copper, of the kind long made in England for Indian trade, but the smaller dishes were of birch bark and basswood. The gun and thehunting knife were of white man's make, but the bow, arrows, snowshoes, tom-tom, and a quill-covered gun case were of Indian art, fashioned ofthe things that grow in the woods about. 

The Indian led into the wigwam. The dog, although not fully grown, growled savagely as it smelled the hated white man odour. Quonab gavethe puppy a slap on the head, which is Indian for, "Be quiet; he's allright;" loosed the rope, and led the dog out. "Bring that, " and theIndian pointed to the bag which hung from a stick between two trees. Thedog sniffed suspiciously in the direction of the bag and growled, buthe was not allowed to come near it. Rolf tried to make friends with thedog, but without success and Quonab said, "Better let Skookum [*] alone. He make friends when he ready--maybe never. "

The two hunters now set out for the open plain, two or three hundredyards to the southward. Here the raccoon was dumped out of the sack, and the dog held at a little distance, until the coon had pulled itselftogether and began to run. Now the dog was released and chivvied on. With a tremendous barking he rushed at the coon, only to get a nip thatmade him recoil, yelping. The coon ran as hard as it could, the dogand hunters came after it; again it was overtaken, and, turning with afierce snarl, it taught the dog a second lesson. Thus, running, dodging, and turning to fight, the coon got back to the woods, and there madea final stand under a small, thick tree; and, when the dog was againrepulsed, climbed quickly up into the branches. 

The hunters did all they could to excite the dog, until he was jumpingabout, trying to climb the tree, and barking uproariously. This wasexactly what they wanted. Skookum's first lesson was learned--the dutyof chasing the big animal of that particular smell, then barking up thetree it had climbed. 

Quonab, armed with a forked stick and a cord noose, now went up thetree. After much trouble he got the noose around the coon's neck, then, with some rather rough handling, the animal was dragged down, maneuveredinto the sack, and carried back to camp, where it was chained up toserve in future lessons; the next two or three being to tree the coon, as before; in the next, the coon was to be freed and allowed to get outof sight, so that the dog might find it by trailing, and the last, inwhich the coon was to be trailed, treed, and shot out of the tree, sothat the dog should have the final joy of killing a crippled coon, andthe reward of a coon-meat feast. But the last was not to be, for thenight before it should have taken place the coon managed to slip itsbonds, and nothing but the empty collar and idle chain were found in thecaptive's place next morning. 

These things were in the future however. Rolf was intensely excited overall he had seen that day. His hunting instincts were aroused. There hadbeen no very obvious or repellant cruelty; the dog alone had suffered, but he seemed happy. The whole affair was so exactly in the line ofhis tastes that the boy was in a sort of ecstatic uplift, and alreadyanticipating a real coon hunt, when the dog should be properly trained. The episode so contrasted with the sordid life he had left an hourbefore that he was spellbound. The very animal smell of the coon seemedto make his fibre tingle. His eyes were glowing with a wild light. Hewas so absorbed that he did not notice a third party attracted by theunusual noise of the chase, but the dog did. A sudden, loud challengecalled all attention to a stranger on the ridge behind the camp. Therewas no mistaking the bloated face and white moustache of Rolf's uncle. 

"So, you young scut! that is how you waste your time. I'll larn ye alesson. "

The dog was tied, the Indian looked harmless, and the boy was cowed, so the uncle's courage mounted high. He had been teaming in the nearbywoods, and the blacksnake whip was in his hands. In a minute its thongwas lapped, like a tongue of flame, around Rolf's legs. The boy gave ashriek and ran, but the man followed and furiously plied the whip. The Indian, supposing it was Rolf's father, marvelled at his methodof showing affection, but said nothing, for the Fifth Commandment is alarge one in the wigwam. Rolf dodged some of the cruel blows, but wasdriven into a corner of the rock. One end of the lash crossed his facelike a red-hot wire. 

"Now I've got you!" growled the bully. 

Rolf was desperate. He seized two heavy stones and hurled the first withdeadly intent at his uncle's head. Mick dodged in time, but the second, thrown lower, hit him on the thigh. Mick gave a roar of pain. Rolfhastily seized more stones and shrieked out, "You come on one step andI'll kill you!"

Then that purple visage turned a sort of ashen hue. Its owner mouthed inspeechless rage. He "knew it was the Indian had put Rolf up to it. He'dsee to it later, " and muttering, blasting, frothing, the hoary-headedsinner went limping off to his loaded wagon. 

 * "Skookum" or "Skookum Chuck, " in Chinook means "Troubled waters. "

Chapter 5. Good-bye to Uncle Mike

 For counsel comes with the night, and action comes with the day; But the gray half light, neither dark nor bright, is a time to hide away. 

Rolf had learned one thing at least--his uncle was a coward. But he alsoknew that he himself was in the wrong, for he was neglecting his workand he decided to go back at once and face the worst. He made littlereply to the storm of scolding that met him. He would have beendisappointed if it had not come. He was used to it; it made him feel athome once more. He worked hard and silently. 

Mick did not return till late. He had been drawing wood for Horton thatday, which was the reason he happened in Quonab's neighbourhood; but hisroad lay by the tavern, and when he arrived home he was too helpless todo more than mutter. 

The next day there was an air of suspended thunder. Rolf overheard hisuncle cursing "that ungrateful young scut--not worth his salt. " Butnothing further was said or done. His aunt did not strike at him oncefor two days. The third night Micky disappeared. On the next he returnedwith another man; they had a crate of fowls, and Rolf was told to keepaway from "that there little barn. "

So he did all morning, but he peeped in from the hayloft when a chancecame, and saw a beautiful horse. Next day the "little barn" was open andempty as before. 

That night this worthy couple had a jollification with some callers, whowere strangers to Rolf. As he lay awake, listening to the carouse, heoverheard many disjointed allusions that he did not understand, and somethat he could guess at: "Night work pays better than day work any time, "etc. Then he heard his own name and a voice, "Let's go up and settle itwith him now. " Whatever their plan, it was clear that the drunken crowd, inspired by the old ruffian, were intent on doing him bodily harm. Heheard them stumbling and reeling up the steep stairs. He heard, "Here, gimme that whip, " and knew he was in peril, maybe of his life, for theywere whiskey-mad. He rose quickly, locked the door, rolled up an old ragcarpet, and put it in his bed. Then he gathered his clothes on his arm, opened the window, and lowered himself till his head only was above thesill, and his foot found a resting place. Thus he awaited. The raucousbreathing of the revellers was loud on the stairs; then the door wastried; there was some muttering; then the door was burst open and inrushed two, or perhaps three, figures. Rolf could barely see in thegloom, but he knew that his uncle was one of them. The attack they madewith whip and stick on that roll of rags in the bed would have brokenhis bones and left him shapeless, had he been in its place. The men werelaughing and took it all as a joke, but Rolf had seen enough; he slippedto the ground and hurried away, realizing perfectly well now that thiswas "good-bye. "

Which way? How naturally his steps turned northward toward Redding, theonly other place he knew. But he had not gone a mile before he stopped. The yapping of a coon dog came to him from the near woods that lay tothe westward along Asamuk. He tramped toward it. To find the dog is onething, to find the owner another; but they drew near at last. Rolf gavethe three yelps and Quonab responded. 

"I am done with that crowd, " said the boy. "They tried to kill metonight. Have you got room for me in your wigwam for a couple of days?"

"Ugh, come, " said the Indian. 

That night, for the first time, Rolf slept in the outdoor air of awigwam. He slept late, and knew nothing of the world about him tillQuonab called him to breakfast. 

Chapter 6. Skookum Accepts Rolf at Last

Rolf expected that Micky would soon hear of his hiding place and comewithin a few days, backed by a constable, to claim his runaway ward. Buta week went by and Quonab, passing through Myanos, learned, first, thatRolf had been seen tramping northward on the road to Dumpling Pond, andwas now supposed to be back in Redding; second, that Micky Kittering waslodged in jail under charge of horse-stealing and would certainly geta long sentence; third, that his wife had gone back to her own folks atNorwalk, and the house was held by strangers. 

All other doors were closed now, and each day that drifted by made itthe more clear that Rolf and Quonab were to continue together. What boywould not exult at the thought of it? Here was freedom from a brutaltyranny that was crushing out his young life; here was a dream of thewild world coming true, with gratification of all the hunter instinctsthat he had held in his heart for years, and nurtured in that single, ragged volume of "Robinson Crusoe. " The plunge was not a plunge, exceptit be one when an eagle, pinion-bound, is freed and springs from a cliffof the mountain to ride the mountain wind. 

The memory of that fateful cooning day was deep and lasting. Neverafterward did smell of coon fail to bring it back; in spite of the manyevil incidents it was a smell of joy. 

"Where are you going, Quonab?" he asked one morning, as he saw theIndian rise at dawn and go forth with his song drum, after warming it atthe fire. He pointed up to the rock, and for the first time Rolf heardthe chant for the sunrise. Later he heard the Indian's song for "GoodHunting, " and another for "When His Heart Was Bad. " They were prayers orpraise, all addressed to the Great Spirit, or the Great Father, and itgave Rolf an entirely new idea of the red man, and a startling lighton himself. Here was the Indian, whom no one considered anything but ahopeless pagan, praying to God for guidance at each step in life, whilehe himself, supposed to be a Christian, had not prayed regularly formonths--was in danger of forgetting how. 

Yet there was one religious observance that Rolf never forgot--that wasto keep the Sabbath, and on that day each week he did occasionally saya little prayer his mother had taught him. He avoided being seen at suchtimes and did not speak of kindred doings. Whereas Quonab neither hidnor advertised his religious practices, and it was only after manySundays had gone that Quonab remarked:

"Does your God come only one day of the week? Does He sneak in afterdark? Why is He ashamed that you only whisper to Him? Mine is here allthe time. I can always reach Him with my song; all days are my Sunday. "

The evil memories of his late life were dimming quickly, and the joys ofthe new one growing. Rolf learned early that, although one may talk ofthe hardy savage, no Indian seeks for hardship. Everything is done thathe knows to make life pleasant, and of nothing is he more careful thanthe comfort of his couch. On the second day, under guidance of his host, Rolf set about making his own bed. Two logs, each four inches thick andthree feet long, were cut. Then two strong poles, each six feet long, were laid into notches at the ends of the short logs. About seventy-fivestraight sticks of willow were cut and woven with willow bark into alattice, three feet wide and six feet long. This, laid on the poles, furnished a spring mattress, on which a couple of blankets made a mostcomfortable couch, dry, warm, and off the ground. In addition to thelodge cover, each bed had a dew cloth which gave perfect protection, nomatter how the storm might rage outdoors. There was no hardship in it, only a new-found pleasure, to sleep and breathe the pure night air ofthe woods. 

The Grass Moon--April--had passed, and the Song Moon was waxing, withits hosts of small birds, and one of Rolf's early discoveries was thatmany of these love to sing by night. Again and again the familiar voiceof the song sparrow came from the dark shore of Asamuk, or the fieldsparrow trilled from the top of some cedar, occasionally the paintedone, Aunakeu, the partridge, drummed in the upper woods, and nightlythere was the persistent chant of Muckawis, the whippoorwill, the myriadvoices of the little frogs called spring-peepers, and the peculiar, "peent, peent, " from the sky, followed by a twittering, that Quonab toldhim was the love song of the swamp bird--the big snipe, with the fantailand long, soft bill, and eyes like a deer. 

"Do you mean the woodcock?" "Ugh, that's the name; Pah-dash-ka-anja wecall it. "

The waning of the moon brought new songsters, with many a nightingaleamong them. A low bush near the plain was vocal during the full moonwith the sweet but disconnected music of the yellow-breasted chat. Theforest rang again and again with a wild, torrential strain of musicthat seemed to come from the stars. It sent peculiar thrill into Rolf'sheart, and gave him a lump his throat as he listened. 

"What is that, Quonab?"

The Indian shook his head. Then, later, when it ended, he said: "Thatis the mystery song of some one I never saw him. "

There was a long silence, then the lad began, "There's no good huntinghere now, Quonab. Why don't you go to the north woods, where deer areplentiful?"

The Indian gave a short shake of his head, and then to prevent furthertalk, "Put up your dew cloth; the sea wind blows to-night. "

He finished; both stood for a moment gazing into the fire. Then Rolffelt something wet and cold thrust into his hand. It was Skookum's nose. At last the little dog had made up his mind to accept the white boy as afriend. 

Chapter 7. Rolf Works Out with Many Results

 He is the dumbest kind of a dumb fool that ain't king in some little corner. --Sayings of Si Sylvanne

The man who has wronged you will never forgive you, and he who hashelped you will be forever grateful. Yes, there is nothing that drawsyou to a man so much as the knowledge that you have helped him. 

Quonab helped Rolf, and so was more drawn to him than to many of theneighbours that he had known for years; he was ready to like him. Their coming together was accidental, but it was soon very clear that afriendship was springing up between them. Rolf was too much of a childto think about the remote future; and so was Quonab. Most Indians aremerely tall children. 

But there was one thing that Rolf did think of--he had no right tolive in Quonab's lodge without contributing a fair share of the thingsneedful. Quonab got his living partly by hunting, partly by fishing, partly by selling baskets, and partly by doing odd jobs for theneighbours. Rolf's training as a loafer had been wholly neglected, and when he realized that he might be all summer with Quonab he saidbluntly:

"You let me stay here a couple of months. I'll work out odd days, andbuy enough stuff to keep myself any way. " Quonab said nothing, but theireyes met, and the boy knew it was agreed to. 

Rolf went that very day to the farm of Obadiah Timpany, and offered towork by the day, hoeing corn and root crops. What farmer is not glad ofhelp in planting time or in harvest? It was only a question of what didhe know and how much did he want? The first was soon made clear; twodollars a week was the usual thing for boys in those times, and when heoffered to take it half in trade, he was really getting three dollars aweek and his board. Food was as low as wages, and at the end of a week, Rolf brought back to camp a sack of oatmeal, a sack of cornmeal, abushel of potatoes, a lot of apples, and one dollar cash. The dollarwent for tea and sugar, and the total product was enough to last themboth a month; so Rolf could share the wigwam with a good conscience. 

Of course, it was impossible to keep the gossipy little town of Myanosfrom knowing, first, that the Indian had a white boy for partner; and, later, that that boy was Rolf. This gave rise to great diversity ofopinion in the neighbourhood. Some thought it should not be allowed, butHorton, who owned the land on which Quonab was camped, could not see anyreason for interfering. 

Ketchura Peck, spinster, however, did see many most excellent reasons. She was a maid with a mission, and maintained it to be an outrage that aChristian boy should be brought up by a godless pagan. She worried overit almost as much as she did over the heathen in Central Africa, wherethere are no Sunday schools, and clothes are as scarce as churches. Failing to move Parson Peck and Elder Knapp in the matter, anddespairing of an early answer to her personal prayers, she resolved ona bold move, "An' it was only after many a sleepless, prayerful night, "namely, to carry the Bible into the heathen's stronghold. 

Thus it was that one bright morning in June she might have been seen, prim and proper--almost glorified, she felt, as she set her lips justright in the mirror--making for the Pipestave Pond, Bible in hand andspectacles clean wiped, ready to read appropriate selections to theunregenerate. 

She was full of the missionary spirit when she left Myanos, and partlyfull when she reached the Orchard Street Trail; but the spirit wasleaking badly, and the woods did appear so wild and lonely that shewondered if women had any right to be missionaries. When she came insight of the pond, the place seemed unpleasantly different from Myanosand where was the Indian camp? She did not dare to shout; indeed, shebegan to wish she were home again, but the sense of duty carried herfully fifty yards along the pond, and then she came to an impassablerock, a sheer bank that plainly said, "Stop!" Now she must go back or upthe bank. Her Yankee pertinacity said, "Try first up the bank, " and shebegan a long, toilsome ascent, that did not end until she came out on ahigh, open rock which, on its farther side, had a sheer drop and gave aview of the village and of the sea. 

Whatever joy she had on again seeing her home was speedily queued in thefearsome discovery that she was right over the Indian camp, and the twoinmates looked so utterly, dreadfully savage that she was thankfulthey had not seen her. At once she shrank back; but on recoveringsufficiently to again peer down, she saw something roasting before thefire--"a tiny arm with a hand that bore five fingers, " as she afterwardsaid, and "a sickening horror came over her. " Yes, she had heard ofsuch things. If she could only get home in safety! Why had she temptedProvidence thus? She backed softly and prayed only to escape. What, andnever even deliver the Bible? "It would be wicked to return with it!" Ina cleft of the rock she placed it, and then, to prevent the wind blowingoff loose leaves, she placed a stone on top, and fled from the dreadfulplace. 

That night, when Quonab and Rolf had finished their meal of corn androasted coon, the old man climbed the rock to look at the sky. The bookcaught his eye at once, evidently hidden there carefully, and thereforein cache. A cache is a sacred thing to an Indian. He disturbed it not, but later asked Rolf, "That yours?"

"No. "

It was doubtless the property of some one who meant to return for it, sothey left it untouched. It rested there for many months, till the winterstorms came down, dismantling the covers, dissolving the pages, butleaving such traces as, in the long afterward, served to identify thebook and give the rock the other name, the one it bears to-day--"BibleRock, where Quonab, the son of Cos Cob, used to live. "

Chapter 8. The Law of Property Among Our Four-Footed Kin

Night came down on the Asamuk woods, and the two in the wigwam wereeating their supper of pork, beans, and tea, for the Indian did not, byany means object to the white man's luxuries, when a strange "yap-yurr"was heard out toward the plain. The dog was up at once with a growl. Rolf looked inquiringly, and Quonab said, "Fox, " then bade the dog bestill. 

"Yap-yurr, yap-yurr, " and then, "yurr, yeow, " it came again and again. "Can we get him?" said the eager young hunter. The Indian shook hishead. 

"Fur no good now. An' that's a she-one, with young ones on thehillside. "

"How do you know?" was the amazed inquiry. "I know it's a she-one, 'cause she says:

"Yap-yurr" (high pitched)

If it was a he-one he'd say:

"Yap-yurr" (low pitched)

"And she has cubs, 'cause all have at this season. And they are on thathillside, because that's the nearest place where any fox den is, andthey keep pretty much to their own hunting grounds. If another foxshould come hunting on the beat of this pair, he'd have to fight for it. That is the way of the wild animals; each has his own run, and for thathe will fight an outsider that he would be afraid of at any otherplace. One knows he is right--that braces him up; the other knows he iswrong--and that weakens him. " Those were the Indian's views, expressedmuch less connectedly than here given, and they led Rolf on to a trainof thought. He remembered a case that was much to the point. 

Their little dog Skookum several times had been worsted by the dog onthe Horton farm, when, following his master, he had come into thehouse yard. There was no question that the Horton dog was stronger. ButSkookum had buried a bone under some brushes by the plain and next daythe hated Horton dog appeared. Skookum watched him with suspicion andfear, until it was no longer doubtful that the enemy had smelled thehidden food and was going for it. Then Skookum, braced up by someinstinctive feeling, rushed forward with bristling mane and gleamingteeth, stood over his cache, and said in plainest dog, "You can't touchthat while I live!"

And the Horton dog--accustomed to domineer over the small yellowcur--growled contemptuously, scratched with his hind feet, smelledaround an adjoining bush, and pretending not to see or notice, went offin another direction. 

What was it that robbed him of his courage, but the knowledge that hewas in the wrong?

Continuing with his host Rolf said, "Do you think they have any ideathat it is wrong to steal?"

"Yes, so long as it is one of their own tribe. A fox will take all hecan get from a bird or a rabbit or a woodchuck, but he won't go far onthe hunting grounds of another fox. He won't go into another fox's denor touch one of its young ones, and if he finds a cache of food withanother fox's mark on it, he won't touch it unless he is near dead ofhunger. "

"How do you mean they cache food and how do they mark it?"

"Generally they bury it under the leaves and soft earth, and the onlymark is to leave their body scent. But that is strong enough, and everyfox knows it. "

"Do wolves make food caches?"

"Yes, wolves, cougars, weasels, squirrels, bluejays, crows, owls, mice, all do, and all have their own way of marking a place. "

"Suppose a fox finds a wolf cache, will he steal from it?"

"Yes, always. There is no law between fox and wolf. They are always atwar with each other. There is law only between fox and fox, or wolf andwolf. "

"That is like ourselves, ain't it? We say, 'Thou shalt not steal, ' andthen when we steal the Indian's land or the Frenchman's ships, we say, 'Oh, that don't mean not steal from our enemies; they are fair game. '"

Quonab rose to throw some sticks on the fire, then went out to turn thesmoke flap of the wigwam, for the wind was changed and another setwas needed to draw the smoke. They heard several times again thehigh-pitched "yap yurr, " and once the deeper notes, which told that thedog fox, too, was near the camp, and was doubtless seeking food to carryhome. 

Chapter 9. Where the Bow Is Better Than the Gun

Of all popular errors about the Indians, the hardest to down is the ideathat their women do all the work. They do the housework, it is true, butall the heavy labour beyond their strength is done by the men. Examplesof this are seen in the frightful toil of hunting, canoeing, andportaging, besides a multitude of kindred small tasks, such as makingsnowshoes, bows, arrows, and canoes. 

Each warrior usually makes his own bow and arrows, and if, as oftenhappens, one of them proves more skilful and turns out better weapons, it is a common thing for others to offer their own specialty inexchange. 

The advantages of the bow over the gun are chiefly its noiselessness, its cheapness, and the fact that one can make its ammunition anywhere. As the gun chiefly used in Quonab's time was the old-fashioned, smooth-bore flint-lock, there was not much difference in the accuracyof the two weapons. Quonab had always made a highclass bow, as well ashigh-class arrows, and was a high-class shot. He could set up ten clamshells at ten paces and break all in ten shots. For at least half ofhis hunting he preferred the bow; the gun was useful to him chieflywhen flocks of wild pigeons or ducks were about, and a single charge ofscattering shot might bring down a dozen birds. 

But there is a law in all shooting--to be expert, you must practisecontinually--and when Rolf saw his host shoot nearly every day at somemark, he tried to join in the sport. 

It took not many trys to show that the bow was far too strong for himto use, and Quonab was persuaded at length to make an outfit for hisvisitor. 

From the dry store hole under the rock, he produced a piece of commonred cedar. Some use hickory; it is less liable to break and will standmore abuse, but it has not the sharp, clean action of cedar. The latterwill send the arrow much farther, and so swiftly does it leave thestring that it baffles the eye. But the cedar bow must be cared for likea delicate machine; overstring it, and it breaks; twang it without anarrow, and it sunders the cords; scratch it, and it may splinter; wetit, and it is dead; let it lie on the ground, even, and it is weakened. But guard it and it will serve you as a matchless servant, and as can noother timber in these woods. 

Just where the red heart and the white sap woods join is the bowman'schoice. A piece that reached from Rolf's chin to the ground was shaveddown till it was flat on the white side and round on the red side, tapering from the middle, where it was one inch wide and one inch thickto the ends, where it was three fourths of an inch wide and five eighthsof an inch thick, the red and white wood equal in all parts. 

The string was made of sinew from the back of a cow, split from thelong, broad sheath that lies on each side the spine, and the bow strungfor trial. Now, on drawing it (flat or white side in front), it wasfound that one arm bent more than the other, so a little more scrapingwas done on the strong side, till both bent alike. 

Quonab's arrows would answer, but Rolf needed a supply of his own. Againthere was great choice of material. The long, straight shoots ol' thearrowwood (Viburnuin dentatum) supplied the ancient Indians, butQuonab had adopted a better way, since the possession of an axe made itpossible. A 25-inch block of straight-grained ash was split and splituntil it yielded enough pieces. These were shaved down to one fourth ofan inch thick, round, smooth, and perfectly straight. Each was notcheddeeply at one end; three pieces of split goose feather were lashed onthe notched end, and three different kinds of arrows were made. All werealike in shaft and in feathering, but differed in the head. First, thetarget arrows: these were merely sharpened, and the points hardened byroasting to a brown colour. They would have been better with conicalpoints of steel, but none of these were to be had. Second, the ordinaryhunting arrows with barbed steel heads, usually bought ready-made, orfiled out of a hoop: these were for use in securing such creatures asmuskrats, ducks close at hand, or deer. Third, the bird bolts: thesewere left with a large, round, wooden head. They were intended forquail, partridges, rabbits, and squirrels, but also served very often, and most admirably, in punishing dogs, either the Indian's own when hewas not living up to the rules and was too far off for a cuff or kick, or a farmer's dog that was threatening an attack. 

Now the outfit was complete, Rolf thought, but one other touch wasnecessary. Quonab painted the feather part of the shaft bright red, andRolf learned why. Not for ornament, not as an owner's mark, but as afinding mark. Many a time that brilliant red, with the white feathernext it, was the means of saving the arrow from loss. An uncolouredarrow among the sticks and leaves of the woods was usually hidden, butthe bright-coloured shaft could catch the eye 100 yards away. 

It was very necessary to keep the bow and arrows from the wet. For this, every hunter provides a case, usually of buckskin, but failing that theymade a good quiver of birch bark laced with spruce roots for the arrows, and for the bow itself a long cover of tarpaulin. 

Now came the slow drilling in archery; the arrow held and the bowdrawn with three fingers on the cord--the thumb and little finger doingnothing. The target was a bag of hay set at twenty feet, until thebeginner could hit it every time: then by degrees it was moved awayuntil at the standard distance of forty yards he could do fair shooting, although of course he never shot as well as the Indian, who hadpractised since he was a baby. 

There are three different kinds of archery tests: the first for aim: Canyou shoot so truly as to hit a three-inch mark, ten times in succession, at ten paces?

Next for speed: Can you shoot so quickly and so far up, as to have fivearrows in the air at once? If so, you are good: Can you keep up six?Then you are very good. Seven is wonderful. The record is said to beeight. Last for power: Can you pull so strong a bow and let the arrow goso clean that it will fly for 250 yards or will pass through a deer atten paces? There is a record of a Sioux who sent an arrow through threeantelopes at one shot, and it was not unusual to pierce the huge buffalothrough and through; on one occasion a warrior with one shot pierced thebuffalo and killed her calf running at the other side. 

If you excel in these three things, you can down your partridge andsquirrel every time; you can get five or six out of each flock of birds;you can kill your deer at twenty-five yards, and so need never starve inthe woods where there is game. 

Of course, Rolf was keen to go forth and try in the real chase, but itwas many a shot he missed and many an arrow lost or broken, beforehe brought in even a red squirrel, and he got, at least, a higherappreciation of the skill of those who could count on the bow for theirfood. 

For those, then, who think themselves hunters and woodmen, let this bea test and standard: Can you go forth alone into the wilderness wherethere is game, take only a bow and arrows for weapons, and travel afoot250 miles, living on the country as you go?

Chapter 11. The Thunder-storm and the Fire Sticks

When first Rolf noticed the wigwam's place, he wondered that Quonab hadnot set it somewhere facing the lake, but he soon learned that it isbest to have the morning sun, the afternoon shade, and shelter from thenorth and west winds. 

The first two points were illustrated nearly every day; but it was twoweeks before the last was made clear. 

That day the sun came up in a red sky, but soon was lost to view in aheavy cloud-bank. There was no wind, and, as the morning passed, the daygrew hotter and closer. Quonab prepared for a storm; but it came withunexpected force, and a gale of wind from the northwest that wouldindeed have wrecked the lodge, but for the great sheltering rock. Underits lea there was hardy a breeze; but not fifty yards away were twotrees that rubbed together, and in the storm they rasped so violentlythat fine shreds of smoking wood were dropped and, but for the rain, would surely have made a blaze. The thunder was loud and lasted long, and the water poured down in torrents. They were ready for rain, but notfor the flood that rushed over the face of the cliff, soaking everythingin the lodge except the beds, which, being four inches off the ground, were safe; and lying on them the two campers waited patiently, orimpatiently, while the weather raged for two drenching hours. And thenthe pouring became a pattering; the roaring, a swishing; the storm, ashower which died away, leaving changing patches of blue in the lumpysky, and all nature calm and pleased, but oh, so wet! Of course the firewas out in the lodge and nearly all the wood was wet. Now Quonab drewfrom a small cave some dry cedar and got down his tinder-box with flintand steel to light up; but a serious difficulty appeared at once--thetinder was wet and useless. 

These were the days before matches were invented. Every one counted onflint and steel for their fire, but the tinder was an essential, and nowa fire seemed hopeless; at least Rolf thought so. 

"Nana Bojou was dancing that time, " said the Indian. 

"Did you see him make fire with those two rubbing trees? So he taughtour fathers, and so make we fire when the tricks of the white man failus. "

Quonab now cut two pieces of dry cedar, one three fourths of an inchthick and eighteen inches long, round, and pointed at both ends; theother five eighths of an inch thick and flat. In the flat one he cut anotch and at the end of the notch a little pit. Next he made a bow ofa stiff, curved stick, and a buckskin thong: a small pine knot wasselected and a little pit made in it with the point of a knife. Thesewere the fare-making sticks, but it was necessary to prepare thefirewood, lay the fire, and make some fibre for tinder. A lot of finecedar shavings, pounded up with cedar bark and rolled into a two-inchball, made good tinder, and all was ready. Quonab put the bow thong oncearound the long stick, then held its point in the pit of the flat stick, and the pine knot on the top to steady it. Now he drew the bow back andforth, slowly, steadily, till the long stick or drill revolving groundsmoking black dust out of the notch. Then faster, until the smoke wasvery strong and the powder filled the notch. Then he lifted the flatstick, fanning the powder with his hands till a glowing coal appeared. Over this he put the cedar tinder and blew gently, till it flamed, andsoon the wigwam was aglow. 

The whole time taken, from lifting the sticks to the blazing fire, wasless than one minute. 

This is the ancient way of the Indian; Rolf had often heard of it as asort of semi-myth; never before had he seen it, and so far as he couldlearn from the books, it took an hour or two of hard work, not a fewdeft touches and a few seconds of time. 

He soon learned to do it himself, and in the years which followed, he had the curious experience of showing it to many Indians who hadforgotten how, thanks to the greater portability of the white man'sflint and steel. 

As they walked in the woods that day, they saw three trees that had beenstruck by lightning during the recent storm; all three were oaks. Thenit occurred to Rolf that he had never seen any but an oak struck bylightning. 

"Is it so, Quonab?"

"No, there are many others; the lightning strikes the oaks most of all, but it will strike the pine, the ash, the hemlock, the basswood, andmany more. Only two trees have I never seen struck, the balsam and thebirch. "

"Why do they escape?"

"My father told me when I was a little boy it was because they shelteredand warmed the Star-girl, who was the sister of the Thunder-bird. "

"I never heard that; tell me about it. "

"Sometime maybe, not now. "

Chapter 12. Hunting the Woodchucks

Cornmeal and potatoes, with tea and apples, three times a day, are aptto lose their charm. Even fish did not entirely satisfy the craving forflesh meat. So Quonab and Rolf set out one morning on a regular hunt forfood. The days of big game were over on the Asamuk, but there were stillmany small kinds and none more abundant than the woodchuck, hated offarmers. Not without reason. Each woodchuck hole in the field was amenace to the horses' legs. Tradition, at least, said that horses' legsand riders' necks had been broken by the steed setting foot in one ofthese dangerous pitfalls: besides which, each chuck den was the hubcentre of an area of desolation whenever located, as mostly it was, inthe cultivated fields. Undoubtedly the damage was greatly exaggerated, but the farmers generally agreed that the woodchuck was a pest. 

Whatever resentment the tiller of the soil might feel against theIndian's hunting quail on his land, he always welcomed him as a killerof woodchucks. 

And the Indian looked on this animal as fair game and most excellenteating. 

Rolf watched eagerly when Quonab, taking his bow and arrows, said theywere going out for a meat hunt. Although there were several fieldswith woodchucks resident, they passed cautiously from one to another, scanning the green expanse for the dark-brown spots that meantwoodchucks out foraging. At length they found one, with a large and twosmall moving brown things among the clover. The large one stood up onits hind legs from time to time, ever alert for danger. It was a broad, open field, without cover; but close to the cleared place in which, doubtless, was the den, there was a ridge that Quonab judged would helphim to approach. 

Rolf was instructed to stay in hiding and make some Indian signs thatthe hunter could follow when he should lose sight of the prey. First, "Come on" (beckoning); and, second, "Stop, " (hand raised, palm forward);"All right" (hand drawn across level and waist high); forefinger movedforward, level, then curved straight down, meant "gone in hole. " ButRolf was not to sign anything or move, unless Quonab asked him by makingthe question sign (that is waving his hand with palm forward and spreadfingers). 

Quonab went back into the woods, then behind the stone walls to getaround to the side next the ridge, and crawling so flat on his breast inthe clover that, although it was but a foot high, he was quite invisibleto any one not placed much above him. 

In this way he came to the little ridge back of the woodchuck den, quiteunknown to its occupants. But now he was in a difficulty. He could notsee any of them. 

They were certainly beyond range of his bow, and it was difficult tomake them seek the den without their rushing into it. But he wasequal to the occasion. He raised one hand and made the query sign, andwatching Rolf he got answer, "All well; they are there. " (A level sweepof the flat hand and a finger pointing steadily. ) Then he waited a fewseconds and made exactly the same sign, getting the same answer. 

He knew that the movement of the distant man would catch the eye of theold woodchuck; she would sit up high to see what it was, and when itcame a second time she would, without being exactly alarmed, move towardthe den and call the young ones to follow. 

The hunter had not long to wait. He heard her shrill, warning whistle, then the big chuck trotted and waddled into sight, stopping occasionallyto nibble or look around. Close behind her were the two fat cubs. Arrived near the den their confidence was restored, and again they beganto feed, the young ones close to the den. Then Quonab put a blunt birddart in his bow and laid two others ready. Rising as little as possible, he drew the bow. 'Tsip! the blunt arrow hit the young chuck on the noseand turned him over. The other jumped in surprise and stood up. So didthe mother. 'Tsip! another bolt and the second chuck was kicking. Butthe old one dashed like a flash into the underground safety of her den. Quonab knew that she had seen nothing of him and would likely come forthvery soon. He waited for some time; then the gray-brown muzzle of thefat old clover-stealer came partly to view; but it was not enough fora shot, and she seemed to have no idea of coming farther. The Indianwaited what seemed like a long time, then played an ancient trick. Hebegan to whistle a soft, low air. Whether the chuck thinks it is anotherwoodchuck calling, or merely a pleasant sound, is not known, but shesoon did as her kind always does, came out of the hole slowly and everhigher, till she was half out and sitting up, peering about. 

This was Quonab's chance. He now drew a barbed hunting arrow to the headand aimed it behind her shoulders. 'Tsip! and the chuck was transfixedby a shaft that ended her life a minute later, and immediately preventedthat instinctive scramble into the hole, by which so many chucks eludethe hunter, even when mortally wounded. 

Now Quonab stood up without further concealment, and beckoned to Rolf, who came running. Three fat woodchucks meant abundance of the finestfresh meat for a week; and those who have not tried it have no ideawhat a delicacy is a young, fat, clover-fed woodchuck, pan-roasted, withpotatoes, and served at a blazing campfire to a hunter who is young, strong, and exceedingly hungry. 

Chapter 13. The Fight with the Demon of the Deep

One morning, as they passed the trail that skirts the pond, Quonabpointed to the near water. There was something afloat like a small, round leaf, with two beads well apart, on it. Then Rolf noticed, twofeet away, a larger floating leaf, and now he knew that the first wasthe head and eyes, the last the back, of a huge snapping turtle. Amoment more and it quickly sank from view. Turtles of three differentkinds were common, and snappers were well known to Rolf; but neverbefore had he seen such a huge and sinister-looking monster of the deep. 

"That is Bosikado. I know him; he knows me, " said the red man. "Therehas long been war between us; some day we will settle it. I saw himhere first three years ago. I had shot a duck; it floated on the water. Before I could get to it something pulled it under, and that was thelast of it. Then a summer duck came with young ones. One by one he tookthem, and at last got her. He drives all ducks away, so I set many nightlines for him. I got some little snappers, eight and ten pounds each. They were good to eat, and three times already I took Bosikado on thehooks, but each time when I pulled him up to the canoe, he broke mybiggest line and went down. He was as broad as the canoe; his clawsbroke through the canoe skin; he made it bulge and tremble. He lookedlike the devil of the lake. I was afraid!

"But my father taught me there is only one thing that can shame aman--that is to be afraid, and I said I will never let fear be my guide. I will seek a fair fight with Bosikado. He is my enemy. He made meafraid once; I will make him much afraid. For three years we have beenwatching each other. For three years he has kept all summer ducks away, and robbed my fish-lines, my nets, and my muskrat traps. Not often do Isee him--mostly like today. 

"Before Skookum I had a little dog, Nindai. He was a good little dog. Hecould tree a coon, catch a rabbit, or bring out a duck, although he wasvery small. We were very good friends. One time I shot a duck; it fellinto the lake; I called Nindai. He jumped into the water and swam tothe duck. Then that duck that I thought dead got up and flew away, so Icalled Nindai. He came across the water to me. By and by, over that deepplace, he howled and splashed. Then he yelled, like he wanted me. I ranfor the canoe and paddled quick; I saw my little dog Nindai go down. Then I knew it was that Bosikado again. I worked a long time with apole, but found nothing; only five days later one of Nindai's pawsfloated down the stream. Some day I will tear open that Bosikado!

"Once I saw him on the bank. He rolled down like a big stone to thewater. He looked at me before he dived, and as we looked in each other'seyes I knew he was a Manito; but he is evil, and my father said, 'Whenan evil Manito comes to trouble you, you must kill him. '

"One day, when I swam after a dead duck, he took me by the toe, but Ireached shallow water and escaped him; and once I drove my fish-spearin his back, but it was not strong enough to hold him. Once he caughtSkookum's tail, but the hair came out; the dog has not since swum acrossthe pond. 

"Twice I have seen him like today and might have killed him with thegun, but I want to meet him fighting. Many a time I have sat on the bankand sung to him the 'Coward's Song, ' and dared him to come and fight inthe shallow water where we are equals. He hears me. He does not come. 

"I know he made me sick last winter; even now he is making trouble withhis evil magic. But my magic must prevail, and some day we shall meet. He made me afraid once. I will make him much afraid, and will meet himin the water. "

Not many days were to pass before the meeting. Rolf had gone for waterat the well, which was a hole dug ten feet from the shore of the lake. He had learned the hunter's cautious trick of going silently and peeringabout, before he left cover. On a mud bank in a shallow bay, some fiftyyards off, he described a peculiar gray and greenish form that he slowlymade out to be a huge turtle, sunning itself. The more he looked andgauged it with things about, the bigger it seemed. So he slunk backquickly and silently to Quonab. "He is out sunning himself--Bosikado--onthe bank!"

The Indian rose quickly, took his tomahawk and a strong line. Rolfreached for the gun, but Quonab shook his head. They went to the lake. Yes! There was the great, goggle-eyed monster, like a mud-colouredlog. The bank behind him was without cover. It would be impossible toapproach the watchful creature within striking distance before he coulddive. Quonab would not use the gun; in this case he felt he must atoneby making an equal fight. He quickly formed a plan; he fastened thetomahawk and the coiled rope to his belt, then boldly and silentlyslipped into the lake, to approach the snapper from the waterside--quite the easiest in this case, not only because the snapper wouldnaturally watch on the land side, but because there was a thick clump ofrushes behind which the swimmer could approach. 

Then, as instructed, Rolf went back into the woods, and came silentlyto a place whence he could watch the snapper from a distance of twentyyards. 

The boy's heart beat fast as he watched the bold swimmer and the savagereptile. There could be little doubt that the creature weighed ahundred pounds. It is the strongest for its size and the fiercest of allreptiles. Its jaws, though toothless, have cutting edges, a sharp beak, and power to the crushing of bones. Its armour makes it invulnerable tobirds and beasts of prey. Like a log it lay on the beach, with its longalligator tail stretched up the bank and its serpentine head and tinywicked eyes vigilantly watching the shore. Its shell, broad and ancient, was fringed with green moss, and its scaly armpits exposed, were deckedwith leeches, at which a couple of peetweets pecked with eager interest, apparently to the monster's satisfaction. Its huge limbs and claws werein marked contrast to the small, red eyes. But the latter it was thatgave the thrill of unnervement. 

Sunk down nearly out of sight, the Indian slowly reached the reeds. Herehe found bottom, and pausing, he took the rope in one hand, the tomahawkin the other, and dived, and when he reappeared he was within ten yardsof the enemy, and in water but four feet deep. 

With a sudden rush the reptile splashed into the pond and out of sight, avoiding the rope noose. But Quonab clutched deep in the water asit passed, and seized the monster's rugged tail. Then it showed itsstrength. In a twinkling that mighty tail was swung sidewise, crushingthe hand with terrible force against the sharp-edged points of the backarmour. It took all the Indian's grit to hold on to that knife-edged warclub. He dropped his tomahawk, then with his other hand swung the ropeto catch the turtle's head, but it lurched so quickly that the ropemissed again, slipped over the shell, and, as they struggled, encircledone huge paw. The Indian jerked it tight, and they were bound together. But now his only weapon was down at the bottom and the water allmuddied. He could not see, but plunged to grope for the tomahawk. Thesnapper gave a great lurch to escape, releasing the injured hand, butjerking the man off his legs. Then, finding itself held by a forepaw, itturned with gaping, hissing jaws, and sprang on the foe that struggledin bottom of the water. 

The snapper has the bulldog habit to seize and hold till the piece tearsout. In the muddy water it had to seize in the dark, and fending firstthe left arm of its foe, fastened on with fierce beak and desperatestrength. At this moment Quonab recovered his tomahawk; rising into theair he dragged up the hanging snapper, and swung the weapon with all theforce of his free arm. The blow sank through the monster's shell, deepinto its back, without any visible effect, except to rob the Indian ofhis weapon as he could not draw it out. 

Then Rolf rushed into the water to help. But Quonab gasped, "No, no, goback--I'm alone. "

The creature's jaws were locked on his arm, but its front claws, tearingdownward and outward, were demolishing the coat that had protected it, and long lines of mingled blood were floating on the waves. 

After a desperate plunge toward shallow water, Quonab gave anotherwrench to the tomahawk--it moved, loosed; another, and it was free. Then "chop, chop, chop, " and that long, serpentine neck was severed; thebody, waving its great scaly legs and lashing its alligator tail, wentswimming downward, but the huge head, blinking its bleary, red eyes andstreaming with blood, was clinched on his arm. The Indian made for thebank hauling the rope that held the living body, and fastened it to atree, then drew his knife to cut the jaw muscles of the head that groundits beak into his flesh. But the muscles were protected by armourplates and bone; he could not deal a stab to end their power. In vain hefumbled and slashed, until in a spasmodic quiver the jaws gaped wide andthe bloody head fell to the ground. Again it snapped, but a tree branchbore the brunt; on this the strong jaws clinched, and so remained. 

For over an hour the headless body crawled, or tried to crawl, alwaystoward the lake. And now they could look at the enemy. Not his size somuch as his weight surprised them. Although barely four feet long, hewas so heavy that Rolf could not lift him. Quonab's scratches were manybut slight; only the deep bill wound made his arm and the bruises of thejaws were at all serious and of these he made light. Headed by Skookumin full 'yap, ' they carried the victim's body to camp; the head, stilldutching the stick, was decorated with three feathers, then set on apole near the wigwam. And the burden of the red man's song when next hesang was:

"Bosikado, mine enemy was mighty, But I went into his country And madehim afraid!"

Chapter 14. Selectman Horton Appears at the Rock

Summer was at its height on the Asamuk. The woodthrush was nearing theend of its song; a vast concourse of young robins in their speckledplumage joined chattering every night in the thickest cedars; and one ortwo broods of young ducks were seen on the Pipestave Pond. 

Rolf had grown wonderfully well into his wigwam life. He knew nowexactly how to set the flap so as to draw out all the smoke, no matterwhich way the wind blew; he had learned the sunset signs, which tellwhat change of wind the night might bring. He knew without going to theshore whether the tide was a little ebb, with poor chances, or a mightyoutflow that would expose the fattest oyster beds. His practiced fingerstold at a touch whether it was a turtle or a big fish on his night line;and by the tone of the tom-tom he knew when a rainstorm was at hand. 

Being trained in industry, he had made many improvements in their camp, not the least of which was to clean up and burn all the rubbish andgarbage that attracted hordes of flies. He had fitted into the camppartly by changing it to fit himself, and he no longer felt that hisstay there was a temporary shift. When it was to end, he neither knewnor cared. He realized only that he was enjoying life as he never haddone before. His canoe had passed a lot of rapids and was now in asteady, unbroken stream--but it was the swift shoot before the fall. A lull in the clamour does not mean the end of war, but a new onsetpreparing; and, of course, it came in the way least looked for. 

Selectman Horton stood well with the community; he was a man of goodjudgment, good position, and kind heart. He was owner of all thewoods along the Asamuk, and thus the Indian's landlord on the Indian'sancestral land. Both Rolf and Quonab had worked for Horton, and so theyknew him well, and liked him for his goodness. 

It was Wednesday morning, late in July, when Selectman Horton, clean-shaven and large, appeared at the wigwam under the rock. 

"Good morrow to ye both!" Then without wasting time he plunged in. "There's been some controversy and much criticism of the selectmen forallowing a white lad, the child of Christian parents, the grandson of aclergyman, to leave all Christian folk and folds, and herd with a pagan, to become, as it were, a mere barbarian. I hold not, indeed, with thosethat out of hand would condemn as godless a good fellow like Quonab, who, in my certain knowledge and according to his poor light, dothindeed maintain in some kind a daily worship of a sort. Nevertheless, the selectmen, the magistrates, the clergy, the people generally, andabove all the Missionary Society, are deeply moved in the matter. Ithath even been made a personal charge against myself, and with muchbitterness I am held up as unzealous for allowing such a nefariousstronghold of Satan to continue on mine own demesne, and harbour one, escaped, as it were, from grace. Acting, therefore, not according to myheart, but as spokesman of the Town Council, the Synod of Elders, andthe Society for the Promulgation of Godliness among the Heathen, I amto state that you, Rolf Kittering, being without kinsfolk and under age, are in verity a ward of the parish, and as such, it hath been arrangedthat you become a member of the household of the most worthy ElderEzekiel Peck, a household filled with the spirit of estimable piety andtrue doctrine; a man, indeed, who, notwithstanding his exterior coldnessand severity, is very sound in all matters regarding the Communion ofSaints, and, I may even say in a measure a man of fame for some mostexcellent remarks he hath passed on the shorter catechism, beside whichhe hath gained much approval for having pointed out two hidden meaningsin the 27th verse of the 12th chapter of Hebrews; one whose verypresence, therefore, is a guarantee against levity, laxity, and falsepreachment. 

"There, now, my good lad, look not so like a colt that feels the whipfor the first time. You will have a good home, imbued with the spirit ofa most excellent piety that will be ever about you. "

"Like a colt feeling the whip, " indeed! Rolf reeled like a strickendeer. To go back as a chore-boy drudge was possible, but not alluring;to leave Quonab, just as the wood world was opening to him, wasdevastating; but to exchange it all for bondage in the pious householdof Old Peck, whose cold cruelty had driven off all his own children, wasan accumulation of disasters that aroused him. 

"I won't go!" he blurted out, and gazed defiantly at the broad andbenevolent selectman. 

"Come now, Rolf, such language is unbecoming. Let not a hasty tonguebetray you into sin. This is what your mother would have wished. Besensible; you will soon find it was all for the best. I have ever likedyou, and will ever be a friend you can count on. 

"Acting, not according to my instructions, but according to my heart, I will say further that you need not come now, you need not even giveanswer now, but think it over. Nevertheless, remember that on or beforeMonday morning next, you will be expected to appear at Elder Peck's, andI fear that, in case you fail, the messenger next arriving will beone much less friendly than myself. Come now, Rolf, be a good lad, andremember that in your new home you will at least be living for the gloryof God. "

Then, with a friendly nod, but an expression of sorrow, the large, blackmessenger turned and tramped away. 

Rolf slowly, limply, sank down on a rock and stared at the fire. Afterawhile Quonab got up and began to prepare the mid-day meal. Usually Rolfhelped him. Now he did nothing but sullenly glare at the glowing coals. In half an hour the food was ready. He ate little; then went away in thewoods by himself. Quonab saw him lying on a flat rock, looking at thepond, and throwing pebbles into it. Later Quonab went to Myanos. On hisreturn he found that Rolf had cut up a great pile of wood, but not aword passed between them. The look of sullen anger and rebellion onRolf's face was changing to one of stony despair. What was passing ineach mind the other could not divine. 

The evening meal was eaten in silence; then Quonab smoked for an hour, both staring into the fire. A barred owl hooted and laughed over theirheads, causing the dog to jump up and bark at the sound that ordinarilyhe would have heeded not at all. Then silence was restored, and the redman's hidden train of thought was in a flash revealed. 

"Rolf, let's go to the North Woods!"

It was another astounding idea. Rolf had realized more and more how muchthis valley meant to Quonab, who worshipped the memory of his people. 

"And leave all this?" he replied, making a sweep with his hand towardthe rock, the Indian trail, the site of bygone Petuquapen, and thegraves of the tribe. 

For reply their eyes met, and from the Indian's deep chest came thesingle word, "Ugh. " One syllable, deep and descending, but what a taleit told of the slowly engendered and strong-grown partiality, of astruggle that had continued since the morning when the selectman camewith words of doom, and of friendship's victory won. 

Rolf realized this, and it gave him a momentary choking in his throat, and, "I'm ready if you really mean it. "

"Ugh I go, but some day come back. "

There was a long silence, then Rolf, "When shall we start?" and theanswer, "To-morrow night. "

Chapter 15. Bound for the North Woods

When Quonab left camp in the morning he went heavy laden, and thetrail he took led to Myanos. There was nothing surprising in it whenhe appeared at Silas Peck's counter and offered for sale a pair ofsnowshoes, a bundle of traps, some dishes of birch bark and basswood, and a tom-tom, receiving in exchange some tea, tobacco, gunpowder, andtwo dollars in cash. He turned without comment, and soon was back incamp. He now took the kettle into the woods and brought it back filledwith bark, fresh chipped from a butternut tree. Water was added, and thewhole boiled till it made a deep brown liquid. When this was cooled hepoured it into a flat dish, then said to Rolf: "Come now, I make you aSinawa. "

With a soft rag the colour was laid on. Face, head, neck, and hands wereall at first intended, but Rolf said, "May as well do the whole thing. "So he stripped off; the yellow brown juice on his white skin turned ita rich copper colour, and he was changed into an Indian lad that nonewould have taken for Rolf Kittering. The stains soon dried, and Rolf, re-clothed, felt that already he had burned a bridge. 

Two portions of the wigwam cover were taken off; and two packs weremade of the bedding. The tomahawk, bows, arrows, and gun, with the fewprecious food pounds in the copper pot, were divided between them andarranged into packs with shoulder straps; then all was ready. But therewas one thing more for Quonab; he went up alone to the rock. Rolf knewwhat he went for, and judged it best not to follow. 

The Indian lighted his pipe, blew the four smokes to the four winds, beginning with the west, then he sat in silence for a time. Presentlythe prayer for good hunting came from the rock:

 "Father lead us! Father, help us! Father, guide us to the good hunting. "

And when that ceased a barred owl hooted in the woods, away to thenorth. 

"Ugh! good, " was all he said as he rejoined Rolf; and they set out, asthe sun went down, on their long journey due northward, Quonab, Rolf, and Skookum. They had not gone a hundred yards before the dog turnedback, raced to a place where he had a bone in cache and rejoining theretrotted along with his bone. 

The high road would have been the easier travelling, but it was verynecessary to be unobserved, so they took the trail up the brook Asamuk, and after an hour's tramp came out by the Cat-Rock road that runswesterly. Again they were tempted by the easy path, but again Quonabdecided on keeping to the woods. Half an hour later they were halted bySkookum treeing a coon. After they had secured the dog, they tramped onthrough the woods for two hours more, and then, some eight miles fromthe Pipestave, they halted, Rolf, at least, tired out. It was nowmidnight. They made a hasty double bed of the canvas cover over a poleabove them, and slept till morning, cheered, as they closed their drowsyeyes, by the "Hoo, Hoo, Hoo, Hoo, yah, hoo, " of their friend, the barredowl, still to the northward. 

The sun was high, and Quonab had breakfast ready before Rolf awoke. Hewas so stiff with the tramp and the heavy pack that it was with secretjoy he learned that they were to rest, concealed in the woods, that day, and travel only by night, until in a different region, where none knewor were likely to stop them. They were now in York State, but that didnot by any means imply that they were beyond pursuit. 

As the sun rose high, Rolf went forth with his bow and blunt arrows, andthen, thanks largely to Skookum, he succeeded in knocking over a coupleof squirrels, which, skinned and roasted, made their dinner that day. At night they set out as before, making about ten miles. The third nightthey did better, and the next day being Sunday, they kept out of sight. But Monday morning, bright and clear, although it was the first morningwhen they were sure of being missed, they started to tramp openly alongthe highway, with a sense of elation that they had not hitherto knownon the joumey. Two things impressed Rolf by their novelty: the curiousstare of the country folk whose houses and teams they passed, and theviolent antagonism of the dogs. Usually the latter could be quelled byshaking a stick at them, or by pretending to pick up a stone, but onehuge and savage brindled mastiff kept following and barking just out ofstick range, and managed to give Skookum a mauling, until Quonab drewhis bow and let fly a blunt arrow that took the brute on the end ofthe nose, and sent him howling homeward, while Skookum got a few highlysatisfactory nips at the enemy's rear. Twenty miles they made that dayand twenty-five the next, for now they were on good roads, and theirpacks were lighter. More than once they found kind farmer folk who gavethem a meal. But many times Skookum made trouble for them. The farmersdid not like the way he behaved among their hens. Skookum never could bemade to grasp the fine zoological distinction between partridges whichare large birds and fair game, and hens which are large birds, but notfair game. Such hair splitting was obviously unworthy of study, muchless of acceptance. 

Soon it was clearly better for Rolf, approaching a house, to go alone, while Quonab held Skookum. The dogs seemed less excited by Rolf's smell, and remembering his own attitude when tramps came to one or anotherof his ancient homes, he always asked if they would let him work for ameal, and soon remarked that his success was better when he sought firstthe women of the house, and then, smiling to show his very white teeth, spoke in clear and un-Indian English, which had the more effect comingfrom an evident Indian. 

"Since I am to be an Indian, Quonab, you must give me an Indian name, "he said after one of these episodes. 

"Ugh! Good! That's easy! You are 'Nibowaka, ' the wise one. " For theIndian had not missed any of the points, and so he was named. 

Twenty or thirty miles a day they went now, avoiding the settlementsalong the river. Thus they saw nothing of Albany, but on the tenthday they reached Fort Edward, and for the first time viewed the greatHudson. Here they stayed as short a time as might be, pushed on byGlen's Falls, and on the eleventh night of the journey they passed theold, abandoned fort, and sighted the long stretch of Lake George, withits wooded shore, and glimpses of the mountains farther north. 

Now a new thought possessed them--"If only they had the canoe that theyhad abandoned on the Pipestave. " It came to them both at the sight ofthe limit less water, and especially when Rolf remembered that LakeGeorge joined with Champlain, which again was the highway to all thewilderness. 

They camped now as they had fifty times before, and made their meal. Thebright blue water dancing near was alluring, inspiring; as they soughtthe shore Quonab pointed to a track and said, "Deer. " He did not showmuch excitement, but Rolf did, and they returned to the camp fire witha new feeling of elation--they had reached the Promised Land. Now theymust prepare for the serious work of finding a hunting ground that wasnot already claimed. 

Quonab, remembering the ancient law of the woods, that parcels off thevalleys, each to the hunter first arriving, or succeeding the one whohad, was following his own line of thought. Rolf was puzzling over meansto get an outfit, canoe, traps, axes, and provisions. The boy brokesilence. 

"Quonab, we must have money to get an outfit; this is the beginning ofharvest; we can easily get work for a month. That will feed us and giveus money enough to live on, and a chance to learn something about thecountry. "

The reply was simple, "You are Nibowaka. "

The farms were few and scattered here, but there were one or two alongthe lake. To the nearest one with standing grain Rolf led the way. Buttheir reception, from the first brush with the dog to the final tiltwith the farmer, was unpleasant--"He didn't want any darn red-skinsaround there. He had had two St. Regis Indians last year, and they werea couple of drunken good-for-nothings. "

The next was the house of a fat Dutchman, who was just wondering how heshould meet the compounded accumulated emergencies of late hay, earlyoats, weedy potatoes, lost cattle, and a prospective increase ofhis family, when two angels of relief appeared at his door, incopper-coloured skins. 

"Cahn yo work putty goood?

"Yes, I have always lived on a farm, " and Rolf showed his hands, broadand heavy for his years. 

"Cahn yo mebby find my lost cows, which I haf not find, already yet?"

Could they! it would be fun to try. 

"I giff yo two dollars you pring dem putty kvick. "

So Quonab took the trail to the woods, and Rolf started into thepotatoes with a hoe, but he was stopped by a sudden outcry of poultry. Alas! It was Skookum on an ill-judged partridge hunt. A minute later hewas ignominiously chained to a penitential post, nor left it during thetravellers' sojourn. 

In the afternoon Quonab returned with the cattle, and as he told Rolf hesaw five deer, there was an unmistakable hunter gleam in his eye. 

Three cows in milk, and which had not been milked for two days, was aserious matter, needing immediate attention. Rolf had milked five cowstwice a day for five years, and a glance showed old Van Trumper that theboy was an expert. 

"Good, good! I go now make feed swine. "

He went into the outhouse, but a tow-topped, redcheeked girl ran afterhim. "Father, father, mother says--" and the rest was lost. 

"Myn Hemel! Myn Hemel! I thought it not so soon, " and the fat Dutchmanfollowed the child. A moment later he reappeared, his jolly face cloudedwith a look of grave concern. "Hi yo big Injun, yo cahn paddle canoe?"Quonab nodded. "Den coom. Annette, pring Tomas und Hendrik. " Sothe father carried two-year-old Hendrik, while the Indian carriedsix-year-old Tomas, and twelve-year-old Annette followed in vague, uncomprehended alarm. Arrived at the shore the children were placed inthe canoe, and then the difficulties came fully to the father'smind--he could not leave his wife. He must send the children with themessenger--In a sort of desperation, "Cahn you dem childen take to dehouse across de lake, and pring back Mrs. Callan? Tell her Marta VanTrumper need her right now mooch very kvick. " The Indian nodded. Thenthe father hesitated, but a glance at the Indian was enough. Somethingsaid, "He is safe, " and in spite of sundry wails from the little onesleft with a dark stranger, he pushed off the canoe: "Yo take care for mybabies, " and turned his brimming eyes away. 

The farmhouse was only two miles off, and the evening calm; no time waslost: what woman will not instantly drop all work and all interests, tocome to the help of another in the trial time of motherhood?

Within an hour the neighbour's wife was holding hands with the mother ofthe banished tow-heads. He who tempers the wind and appoints the seasonof the wild deer hinds had not forgotten the womanhood beyond the reachof skilful human help, and with the hard and lonesome life had conjoineda sweet and blessed compensation. What would not her sister of the citygive for such immunity; and long before that dark, dread hour ofnight that brings the ebbing life force low, the wonderful miracle wascomplete; there was another tow-top in the settler's home, and all waswell. 

Chapter 16. Life with the Dutch Settler

The Indians slept in the luxuriant barn of logs, with blankets, plentyof hay, and a roof. They were more than content, for now, on the edge ofthe wilderness, they were very close to wild life. Not a day or a nightpassed without bringing proof of that. 

One end of the barn was portioned off for poultry. In this the workingstaff of a dozen hens were doing their duty, which, on that first nightof the "brown angels' visit, " consisted of silent slumber, when all atonce the hens and the new hands were aroused by a clamorous cackling, which speedily stopped. It sounded like a hen falling in a bad dream, then regaining her perch to go to sleep again. But next morning the bodyof one of these highly esteemed branches of the egg-plant was found inthe corner, partly devoured. Quonab examined the headless hen, the dustaround, and uttered the word, "Mink. "

Rolf said, "Why not skunk?"

"Skunk could not climb to the perch. "

"Weasel then. "

"Weasel would only suck the blood, and would kill three or four. "

"Coon would carry him away, so would fox or wildcat, and a marten wouldnot come into the building by night. "

There was no question, first, that it was a mink, and, second, that hewas hiding about the barn until the hunger pang should send him againto the hen house. Quonab covered the hen's body with two or three largestones so that there was only one approach. In the way of this approachhe buried a "number one" trap. 

That night they were aroused again; this time by a frightful screeching, and a sympathetic, inquiring cackle from the fowls. 

Arising, quickly they entered with a lantem. Rolf then saw a sight thatgave him a prickling in his hair. The mink, a large male, was caught byone front paw. He was writhing and foaming, tearing, sometimes at thetrap, sometimes at the dead hen, and sometimes at his own imprisonedfoot, pausing now and then to utter the most ear-piercing shrieks, thenfalling again in crazy animal fury on the trap, splintering his sharpwhite teeth, grinding the cruel metal with bruised and bloody jaws, frothing, snarling, raving mad. As his foemen entered he turned on thema hideous visage of inexpressible fear and hate, rage and horror. His eyes glanced back green fire in the lantern light; he strained inrenewed efforts to escape; the air was rank with his musky smell. Theimpotent fury of his struggle made a picture that continued in Rolf'smind. Quonab took a stick and with a single blow put an end to thescene, but never did Rolf forget it, and never afterward was he awilling partner when the trapping was done with those relentless jaws ofsteel. 

A week later another hen was missing, and the door of the hen house leftopen. After a careful examination of the dust, inside and out of thebuilding, Quonab said, "Coon. " It is very unusual for coons to raid ahen house. Usually it is some individual with abnormal tastes, and oncehe begins, he is sure to come back. The Indian judged that he might beback the next night, so prepared a trap. A rope was passed from the doorlatch to a tree; on this rope a weight was hung, so that the door wasselfshutting, and to make it self-locking he leaned a long pole againstit inside. Now he propped it open with a single platform, so set thatthe coon must walk on it once he was inside, and so release the door. The trappers thought they would hear in the night when the door closed, but they were sleepy; they knew nothing until next morning. Then theyfound that the self-shutter had shut, and inside, crouched in one of thenesting boxes, was a tough, old fighting coon. Strange to tell, he hadnot touched a second hen. As soon as he found himself a prisoner he hadexperienced a change of heart, and presently his skin was nailed on theend of the barn and his meat was hanging in the larder. 

"Is this a marten, " asked little Annette. And when told not, her disappointment elicited the information that old Warren, thestorekeeper, had promised her a blue cotton dress for a marten skin. 

"You shall have the first one I catch, " said Rolf. 

Life in Van Trumper's was not unpleasant. The mother was going aboutagain in a week. Annette took charge of the baby, as well as ofthe previous arrivals. Hendrik senior was gradually overcoming hisdifficulties, thanks to the unexpected help, and a kindly spirit madethe hard work not so very hard. The shyness that was at first felttoward the Indians wore off, especially in the case of Rolf, he wasfound so companionable; and the Dutchman, after puzzling over thecombination of brown skin and blue eyes, decided that Rolf was ahalf-breed. 

August wore on not unpleasantly for the boy, but Quonab was gettingdecidedly restless. He could work for a week as hard as any white man, but his race had not risen to the dignity of patient, unremitting, life-long toil. 

"How much money have we now, Nibowaka?" was one of the mid-Augustindications of restlessness. Rolf reckoned up; half a month for Quonab, $15. 00; for himself, $10. 00; for finding the cows $2. 00--$27. 00 in all. Not enough. 

Three days later Quonab reckoned up again. Next day he said: "We needtwo months' open water to find a good country and build a shanty. " Thendid Rolf do the wise thing; he went to fat Hendrik and told him allabout it. They wanted to get a canoe and an outfit, and seek for atrapping or hunting ground that would not encroach on those alreadypossessed, for the trapping law is rigid; even the death penalty is notconsidered too high in certain cases of trespass, provided the injuredparty is ready to be judge, jury, and executioner. Van Trumper was ableto help them not a little in the matter of location--there was no usetrying on the Vermont side, nor anywhere near Lake Champlain, nor nearLake George; neither was it worth while going to the far North, as theFrenchmen came in there, and they were keen hunters, so thatHamilton County was more promising than any other, but it was almostinaccessible, remote from all the great waterways, and of course withoutroads; its inaccessibility was the reason why it was little known. Sofar so good; but happy Hendrik was unpleasantly surprised to learn thatthe new help were for leaving at once. Finally he made this offer: Ifthey would stay till September first, and so leave all in "good shapefer der vinter, " he would, besides the wages agreed, give them thecanoe, one axe, six mink traps, and a fox trap now hanging in the barn, and carry them in his wagon as far as the Five-mile portage from LakeGeorge to Schroon River, down which they could go to its junction withthe upper Hudson, which, followed up through forty miles of rapids andhard portages, would bring them to a swampy river that enters from thesouthwest, and ten miles up this would bring them to Jesup's Lake, whichis two miles wide and twelve miles long. This country abounded withgame, but was so hard to enter that after Jesup's death it was deserted. 

There was only one possible answer to such an offer--they stayed. 

In spare moments Quonab brought the canoe up to the barn, stripped offsome weighty patches of bark and canvas and some massive timber thwarts, repaired the ribs, and when dry and gummed, its weight was below onehundred pounds; a saving of at least forty pounds on the soggy thing hecrossed the lake in that first day on the farm. 

September came. Early in the morning Quonab went alone to the lakeside;there on a hill top he sat, looking toward the sunrise, and sang a songof the new dawn, beating, not with a tom-tom--he had none--but with onestick on another. And when the sunrise possessed the earth he sang againthe hunter's song:

"Father, guide our feet, Lead us to the good hunting. "

Then he danced to the sound, his face skyward, his eyes closed, his feetbarely raised, but rythmically moved. So went he three times round tothe chant in three sun circles, dancing a sacred measure, as royal Davidmight have done that day when he danced around the Ark of the Covenanton its homeward joumey. His face was illumined, and no man could haveseen him then without knowing that this was a true heart's worship of atrue God, who is in all things He has made. 

Chapter 17. Canoeing on the Upper Hudson

 There is only one kind of a man I can't size up; that's the faller that shets up and says nothing. --Sayings of Si Sylvanne. 

A settler named Hulett had a scow that was borrowed by the neighbourswhenever needed to take a team across the lake. On the morning of theirjourney, the Dutchman's team and wagon, the canoe and the men, wereaboard the scow, Skookum took his proper place at the prow, and allwas ready for "Goodbye. " Rolf found it a hard word to say. The good oldDutch mother had won his heart, and the children were like his brothersand sisters. 

"Coom again, lad; coom and see us kvick. " She kissed him, he kissedAnnette and the three later issues. They boarded the scow to ply thepoles till the deep water was reached, then the oars. An east windspringing up gave them a chance to profit by a wagon-cover rigged as asail, and two hours later the scow was safely landed at West Side, where was a country store, and the head of the wagon road to the SchroonRiver. 

As they approached the door, they saw a rough-looking man slouchingagainst the building, his hands in his pockets, his blear eyes taking inthe new-comers with a look of contemptuous hostility. As they passed, hespat tobacco juice on the dog and across the feet of the men. 

Old Warren who kept the store was not partial to Indians, but he wasa good friend of Hendrik and very keen to trade for fur, so the newtrappers were well received; and now came the settling of accounts. Flour, oatmeal, pork, potatoes, tea, tobacco, sugar, salt, powder, ball, shot, clothes, lines, an inch-auger, nails, knives, awls, needles, files, another axe, some tin plates, and a frying pan were selected andadded to Hendrik's account. 

"If I was you, I'd take a windy-sash; you'll find it mighty convenientin cold weather. " The store keeper led them into an outhouse where was apile of six-lighted window-frames all complete. So the awkward thing wasadded to their load. 

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

As they were arranging and selecting, they heard a most hideousyelping outdoors, and a minute later Skookum limped in, crying as ifhalf-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 inagain. 

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 asthe 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 furfrom the stuff I got last year. "

"I don't expect to, " was the reply; "I've learned what your word'sworth. " 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 trapperand a big bit of a bum; stuck me last year. He doesn't come out thisway; they say he goes out by the west side of the mountains. "

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

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

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

It was after sundown, so they set about camping for the night. A wisecamper always prepares bed and shelter in daylight, if possible. WhileRolf made a fire and hung the kettle, Quonab selected a level, dry placebetween 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 polebetween the trees. The ends of the covers were held down by loosegreen logs quickly cut for the purpose, and now they were safe againstweather. 

Tea, potatoes, and fried pork, with maple syrup and hard-tack, madetheir meal of the time, after which there was a long smoke. Quonab tooka stick of red willow, picked up-in the daytime, and began shaving ittoward one end, leaving the curling shreds still on the stick. Whenthese were bunched in a fuzzy mop, he held them over the fire until theywere 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 smokecalled the "Indian smell, " by many who do not know whence or how itcomes. Rolf did not smoke. He had promised his mother that he wouldnot until he was a man, and something brought her back home now withoverwhelming force; that was the beds they had made of fragrant balsamboughs. "Cho-ko-tung or blister tree" as Quonab called it. His motherhad a little sofa pillow, brought from the North--a "northern pine"pillow they called it, for it was stuffed with pine needles of a kindnot growing in Connecticut. Many a time had Rolf as a baby pushed hislittle round nose into that bag to inhale the delicious odour it gaveforth, and so it became the hallowed smell of all that was dear in hisbabyhood, and it never lost its potency. Smell never does. Oh, mightyaura! that, in marching by the nostrils, can reach and move the soul;how wise the church that makes this power its handmaid, and through itsincense 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 ofletting evil thought associated grow with some recurrent odour thatwe love. Happy, indeed, are they that find some ten times pure andconsecrated fragrance, like the pine, which entering in is masterof their moods, and yet through linking thoughts has all its power, uplifting, full of sweetness and blessed peace. So came to Rolf hismedicine 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 beadjusted that first day. Packs divided in two, new combinations to trimthe 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 orto packages that would float in case of an upset. The canoe itself hadto 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 onthe Pipestave Pond, but that was a mere ferry. This was real travel. Hemarvelled at the sensitiveness of the frail craft; the delicacy of itsbalance; its quick response to the paddle; the way it seemed to shrinkfrom the rocks; and the unpleasantly suggestive bend-up of the ribswhen the bottom grounded upon a log. It was a new world for him. Quonabtaught him never to enter the canoe except when she was afloat; never torise in her or move along without hold of the gunwale; never to make asudden move; and he also learned that it was easier to paddle when therewere six feet of water underneath than when only six inches. 

In an hour they had covered the five miles that brought them to theHudson, and here the real labour began, paddling up stream. Before longthey came to a shallow stretch with barely enough water to float thecanoe. Here they jumped out and waded in the stream, occasionallylifting a stone to one side, till they reached the upper stretch of deepwater and again went merrily paddling. Soon they came to an impassablerapid, and Rolf had his first taste of a real carry or portage. Quonab'seye was watching the bank as soon as the fierce waters appeared; forthe first question was, where shall we land? and the next, how far do wecarry? There are no rapids on important rivers in temperate Americathat have not been portaged more or less for ages. No canoe man portageswithout considering most carefully when, where, and how to land. Hisselection of the place, then, is the result of careful study. He cannothelp leaving some mark at the place, slight though it be, and the nextman looks for that mark to save himself time and trouble. 

"Ugh" was the only sound that Rolf heard from his companion, andthe canoe headed for a flat rock in the pool below the rapids. Afterlanding, 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 tolearn the trail. It was not well marked; had not been used for a yearor two, evidently, but there are certain rules that guide one. The trailkeeps near the water, unless there is some great natural barrier, and itis 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 yardshe 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 wascarried over and moored to the bank. 

The cargo replaced, they went on again, but in half an hour afterpassing more shoal water, saw another rapid, not steep, but too shallowto float the canoe, even with both men wading. Here Quonab made whatthe 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 andreloaded her above. Another strip of good going was succeeded by a longstretch of very swift water that was two or three feet deep and betweenshores that were densely grown with alders. The Indian landed, cut twolight, 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 onthe upper level. 

Yet one more style of canoe propulsion was forced on them. They came toa long stretch of smooth, deep, very swift water, almost a rapid-one ofthe kind that is a joy when you are coming down stream. It differed fromthe last in having shores that were not alder-hidden, but open gravelbanks. Now did Quonab take a long, strong line from his war sack. Oneend 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, withRolf in the stern to steer and the Indian hauling on the bank, the canoewas safely "tracked" up the "strong waters. "

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

It made a hardened canoe man of Rolf, and when, on the evening of thefifth day, they saw a huge eagle's nest in a dead pine tree that stoodon the edge of a long swamp, both felt they had reached their owncountry, and were glad. 

Chapter 18. Animal Life Along the River

It must not be supposed that, because it has been duly mentioned, theysaw no wild life along the river. The silent canoe man has the best ofopportunities. 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 tapson 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 stillhe stood like a red statue, for he was yet in the red coat. With threeor 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 turnedand bounded away, the white flag the last thing to disappear. Rolf satspellbound. It was so sudden; so easy; it soon melted into the woodsagain. He trembled after it was gone. 

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

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

On the second day they saw three deer, and on the third morning Quonabloaded his gun with buckshot, to be ready, then sallied forth at dawn. Rolf was following, but the Indian shook his head, then said: "Don'tmake fire for half an hour. "

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

Another and more thrilling experience followed quickly. Rounding a bendin the early dawn they sighted a black bear and two cubs rambling alongthe gravelly bank and stopping now and then to eat something that turnedout to be crayfish. 

Quonab had not seen a bear since childhood, when he and his fatherhunted 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 driftbackward until out of sight; then made for the land. Quickly tying upthe canoe he took his gun and Rolf his hunting arrows, and, holdingSkookum in a leash, they dashed into the woods. Then, keeping out ofsight, they ran as fast and as silently as possible in the directionof the bears. Of course, the wind was toward the hunters, or they nevercould have got so near. Now they were opposite the family group andneeded only a chance for a fair shot. Sneaking forward with the utmostcaution, they were surely within twenty-five yards, but still the bushesscreened the crab-eaters. As the hunters sneaked, the old bear stoppedand sniffed suspiciously; the wind changed, she got an unmistakablewhiff; then gave a loud warning "Koff! Koff! Koff! Koff!" and ran asfast as she could. The hunters knowing they were discovered rushed out, yelling as loudly as possible, in hopes of making the bears tree. Theold bear ran like a horse with Skookum yapping bravely in her rear. Theyoung ones, left behind, lost sight of her, and, utterly bewildered bythe noise, made for a tree conveniently near and scrambled up into thebranches. "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 thehunters, 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 itwith us; let's leave them, " said Rolf, but added, "Will they find theirmother?"

"Yes, bime-by; they come down and squall all over woods. She will hanground 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 morefull of interesting thrills than did any one of the many stirring bearhunts that Rolf and Quonab shared together in the days that were tocome. 

Chapter 19. 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 ofthese had been cut years ago, showing that the old trapper had used thisroute. Once they were unpleasantly surprised by seeing a fresh choppingon the bank, but their mourning was changed into joy when they found itwas beaver-work. 

Ten miles they made that day. In the evening they camped on the shore ofJesup's Lake, proud and happy in the belief that they were the rightfulowners of it all. That night they heard again and again the howling ofwolves, but it seemed on the far side of the lake. In the morning theywent out on foot to explore, and at once had the joy of seeing fivedeer, while tracks showed on every side. It was evidently a paradise fordeer, and there were in less degree the tracks of other animals--mink infair abundance, one or two otters, a mountain lion, and a cow moose withher calf. It was thrilling to see such a feast of possibilities. Thehunters were led on and on, revelling in the prospect of many joysbefore them, when all at once they came on something that turned theirjoy 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 ofthem with a prior claim to the valley; a claim that the unwritten lawwould allow. They followed it a mile. It went striding along the shoreat 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 clamshells, and again had hastened on. But there was no mark of gunstockor other weapon where he sat; and why was he wearing boots? The huntersrarely did. 

For two miles the Indian followed with Rolf, and sometimes foundthat the hated stranger had been running hard. Then they turned back, terribly disappointed. At first it seemed a crushing blow. They hadthree courses open to them--to seek a location farther north, to assumethat one side of the lake was theirs, or to find out exactly who andwhat the stranger was. They decided on the last. The canoe was launchedand loaded, and they set out to look for what they hoped they would notfind, a trapper's shanty on the lake. 

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

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

Which side of the outlet? Quonab settled that--the west. He wanted tosee the sun rise, and, not far back from the water, was a hill with ajutting, 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. 

Chapter 20. 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 isbig enough to lie down in. " And every trapper has realized before springthat he made a sad mistake in not having it big enough to live in andstore goods in. Quonab and Rolf were new at the business, and made theusual 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 rosequickly. In one day the walls were up. An important thing was the roof. What should it be? Overlapping basswood troughs, split shingles, alsocalled shakes, or clay? By far the easiest to make, the warmestin winter and coolest in summer, is the clay roof. It has threedisadvantages: It leaks in long-continued wet weather; it drops downdust and dirt in dry weather; and is so heavy that it usually ends bycrushing in the log rafters and beams, unless they are further supportedon posts, which are much in the way. But its advantages were so obviousthat the builders did not hesitate. A clay roof it was to be. 

When the walls were five feet high, the doorway and window were cutthrough the logs, but leaving in each case one half of the log at thebottom of the needed opening. The top log was now placed, then rolledover bottom up, while half of its thickness was cut away to fit overthe door: a similar cut out was made over the window. Two flat piecesof spruce were prepared for door jambs and two shorter ones for windowjambs. Auger holes were put through, so as to allow an oak pin tobe driven through the jamb into each log, and the doorway and windowopening 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 thehillside; and why? Quonab said that the lake stone was of the waterspirits, and would not live near fire, but would burst open; while thehillside stone was of the sun and fire spirit, and in the fire would addits heat. 

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

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

The eaves logs, end logs, and ridge logs were soon in place; then camethe cutting of small poles, spruce and tamarack, long enough to reachfrom ridge to eaves, and in sufficient number to completely cover theroof. A rank sedge meadow near by afforded plenty of coarse grass withwhich the poles were covered deeply; and lastly clay dug out with acouple of hand-made, axe-hewn wooden spades was thrown evenly on thegrass to a depth of six inches; this, when trampled flat, made a roofthat 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 plankproject as a point, the other by nailing on a pin after the door wasplaced; both pins fitting, of course, into inch auger holes. 

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

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

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

Chapter 21. Rolf's First Deer

Anxious to lose no fine day they had worked steadily on the shanty, noteven going after the deer that were seen occasionally over the lake, sothat now they were out of fresh meat, and Rolf saw a chance he long hadlooked for. "Quonab, I want to go out alone and get a deer, and I wantyour gun. 

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

"To-night" meant evening, so Rolf set out alone as soon as the sun waslow, for during the heat of the day the deer are commonly lying in somethicket. In general, he knew enough to travel up wind, and to go assilently as possible. The southwest wind was blowing softly, and so hequickened his steps southwesterly which meant along the lake. Tracks andsigns abounded; it was impossible to follow any one trail. His plan wasto 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 inthe bushes, but it ceased, and he was in doubt whether the creature, presumably a deer, was standing there or had gone on. "Never quit tillyou are sure, " was one of Quonab's wise adages. Rolf was bound to knowwhat it was that had moved. So he stood still and waited. A minutepassed; another; many; a long time; and still he waited, but got nofurther sign of life from the bush. Then he began to think he wasmistaken; yet it was good huntercraft to find out what that was. Hetried the wind several times, first by wetting his finger, which testsaid "southwest"; second, by tossing up some handfuls of dried grass, which said "yes, southwest, but veering southerly in this glade. " So heknew he might crawl silently to the north side of that bush. He lookedto the priming of his gun and began a slow and stealthy stalk, selectingsuch openings as might be passed without effort or movement of bushes orlikelihood of sound. He worked his way step by step; each time his footwas lifted he set it down again only after trying the footing. At eachstep he paused to look and listen. It was only one hundred yards to theinteresting spot, but Rolf was fifteen minutes in covering the distance, and more than once, he got a great start as a chicadee flew out ora woodpecker tapped. His heart beat louder and louder, so it seemedeverything near must hear; but he kept on his careful stalk, and at lasthad reached the thicket that had given him such thrills and hopes. Herehe stood and watched for a full minute. Again he tried the wind, andproceeded to circle slowly to the west of the place. 

After a long, tense crawl of twenty yards he came on the track and signof 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. Hejudged it best to follow this hot trail for a time, and holding his gunready cocked he stepped softly onward. A bluejay cried out, "jay, jay!"with startling loudness, and seemingly enjoyed his pent-up excitement. Afew steps forward at slow, careful stalk, and then behind him he hearda loud whistling hiss. Instantly turning he found himself face to facewith a great, splendid buck in the short blue coat. There not thirtyyards away he stood, the creature he had been stalking so long, in plainview now, broadside on. They gazed each at the other, perfectly stillfor a few seconds, then Rolf without undue movement brought the gunto bear, and still the buck stood gazing. The gun was up, but oh, howdisgustingly it wabbled and shook! and the steadier Rolf tried to boldit, the more it trembled, until from that wretched gun the palsy spreadall over his body; his breath came tremulously, his legs and arms wereshaking, and at last, as the deer moved its head to get a better viewand raised its tail, the lad, making an effort at selfcontrol, pulledthe 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 cleanmiss. Yes, there was the bullet hole in a tree, five feet above thedeer's head. "I'm no good; I'll never be a hunter, " he groaned, thenturned and slowly tramped back to camp. Quonab looked inquiringly, for, of course, he heard the shot. He saw a glum and sorry-looking youth, whoin response to his inquiring look gave merely a head-shake, and hung upthe gun with a vicious bang. 

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

Rolf made no reply. So Quonab ventured, "You want me to go?" Thatsettled 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 wasno wind, but the southwest was the likeliest to spring up. So he wentnearly over his last night's track. He found it much easier to gosilently now when all the world was dew wet, and travelled quickly. Pastthe fateful glade he went, noted again the tree torn several feet toohigh up, and on. Then the cry of a bluejay rang out; this is often anotification 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 ascraping sound; then again the bluejay, but the former ceased and thejay-note died in the distance. He crept cautiously on again for a fewminutes; another opening appeared. He studied this from a hiding place;then far across he saw a little flash near the ground. His heart gavea jump; he studied the place, saw again the flash and then made out thehead of a deer, a doe that was lying in the long grass. The flash wasmade by its ear shaking off a fly. Rolf looked to his priming, bracedhimself, got fully ready, then gave a short, sharp whistle; instantlythe doe rose to her feet; then another appeared, a sinal one; then ayoung 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. " Thedeer stretched themselves and began slowly walking toward the lake. Allhad disappeared but the buck. Rolf gave another whistle that turned theantler-bearer to a statue. Controlling himself with a strong "Iwill, " he raised the gun, held it steadily, and fired. The buck gavea gathering spasm, a bound, and disappeared. Rolf felt sick again withdisgust, but he reloaded, then hastily went forward. 

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

Rolf gave a long, rolling war cry and got an answer from a point thatwas 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 knewyou must have your shakes, so let you go it alone. "

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

After the hide was removed from the body (not the hand or legs), Quonabcarefully cut out the-broad sheath of tendon that cover the muscles, beginning at the hip bones on the back and extending up to theshoulders; this is the sewing sinew. Then he cut out the two longfillets 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 intothe 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 redyarns from them, so that the Great Spirit would be pleased and send goodhunting. Then addressing the head he said: "Little brother, forgiveus. We are sorry to kill you. Behold! we give you the honour of redstreamers. " 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 dayslater, when the hair began to slip, he scraped it clean. A broad ashwood hoop he had made ready and when the green rawhide was strained onit again the Indian had an Indian drum. 

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

"Ho da ho-he da he. "

But the next day before sunrise he climbed the hill and sitting on thesun-up rock he hailed the Day God with the invocation, as he had notsung it since the day they left the great rock above the Asalnuk, andfollowed with the song:

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

Chapter 22. 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 ofdeadfalls for use in the coming cold weather. They were a little aheadof time, but it was very desirable to get their lines blazed through thewoods 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 thestream: beaver, otter, mink, muskrat, coon, are examples. Those thatdo not actually live by the water seek these places because of theirsheltered character and because their prey lives there; of this classare the lynx, fox, fisher, and marten that feed on rabbits and mice. Therefore a line of traps is usually along some valley and over thedivide and down some other valley back to the point of beginning. 

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

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

After five hours' travel and work they came to another stream joiningon, and near the angle of the two little valleys they found a small treethat was chewed and scratched in a remarkable manner for three to sixfeet up. "Bear tree, " said Quonab, and by degrees Rolf got the factsabout it. 

The bears, and indeed most animals, have a way of marking the range thatthey consider their own. Usually this is done by leaving their personalodour at various points, covering the country claimed, but in some casesvisible marks are added. Thus the beaver leaves a little dab of mud, thewolf scratches with his hind feet, and the bear tears the signal treewith tooth and claw. Since this is done from time to time, when the bearhappens to be near the tree, it is kept fresh as long as the regionis claimed. But it is especially done in midsummer when the bears arepairing, and helps them to find suitable companions, nor all are thenroaming the woods seeking mates; all call and leave their mark on thesign post, so the next bear, thanks to his exquisite nose, can tell atonce the sex of the bear that called last and by its track tell whichway it travelled afterward. 

In this case it was a bear's register, but before long Quonab showedRolf a place where two long logs joined at an angle by a tree that wasrubbed and smelly, and showed a few marten hairs, indicating that thiswas 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 onwhich were pellets left by foxes. The Indian explained:

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

And slowly Rolf learned that these habits are seen in some measurein all animals; yes, down to the mice and shrews. We see little ofit because our senses are blunt and our attention untrained; but thenaturalist and the hunter always know where to look for the four-footedinhabitants and by them can tell whether or not the land is possessed bysuch and such a furtive tribe. 

Chapter 23. The Beaver Pond

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

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

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

Red-winged blackbirds were sailing in flocks about the pond; a numberof ducks were to be seen, and on a dead tree, killed by the backed upwater, a great blue heron stood. Many smaller creatures moved or flittedin the lively scene, while far out near the middle rose a dome-like pileof sticks, a beaver lodge, and farther three more were discovered. Nobeaver were seen, but the fresh cut sticks, the floating branches peeledof all the bark, and the long, strong dam in good repair were enoughto tell a practised eye that here was a large colony of beavers inundisturbed possession. 

In those days beaver was one of the most valued furs. The creature isvery easy to trap; so the discovery of the pond was like the finding ofa bag of gold. They skirted its uncertain edges and Quonab pointed outthe many landing places of the beaver; little docks they seemed, builtup with mud and stones with deep water plunge holes alongside. Here andthere on the shore was a dome-shaped ant's nest with a pathway to itfrom the pond, showing, as the Indian said, that here the beaver came onsunny days to lie on the hill and let the swarming ants come forth andpick the vermin from their fur. At one high point projecting into thestill 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 milebefore reaching the upper end and here they found another dam, with itspond. 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 wereevidently part of the thriving colony, for fresh cut trees were seen onevery side. "Ugh, good; we get maybe fifty beaver, " said the Indian, andthey knew they had reached the Promised Land. 

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

Chapter 24. The Porcupine

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

Now the hunters called the dog. He was a sorry-looking object, pawing athis muzzle, first with one foot, then another, trying to unswallow thequills in his tongue, blinking hard, uttering little painful grunts andwhines as he rubbed his head upon the ground or on his forelegs. Rolfheld him while Quonab, with a sharp jerk, brought out quill after quill. Thirty or forty of the poisonous little daggers were plucked from histrembling legs, head, face, and nostrils, but the dreadful ones werethose 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 thestrong fingers of the red man, and Skookum whimpered a little, but heshrieked outright when those in the tongue were removed. Rolf had hardwork to hold him, and any one not knowing the case might have thoughtthat the two men were deliberately holding the dog to administer themost cruel torture. 

But none of the quills had sunk very deep. All were got out at last andthe little dog set free. 

Now Rolf thought of vengeance on the quill-pig snugly sitting in thetree near by. 

Ammunition was too precious to waste, but Rolf was getting ready to climbwhen Quonab said: "No, no; you must not. Once I saw white man climbafter the Kahk; it waited till he was near, then backed down, lashingits tail. He put up his arm to save his face. It speared his arm infifty 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 anddropped. 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 isbad 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 onlyhis hate of the creature repeated the same sad mistake, and again had tohave the painful help, without which he must certainly have died. Beforenight, however, he began to feel his real punishment and next morningno one would have known the pudding-headed thing that sadly followed thehunters, for the bright little dog that a day before had run so joyouslythrough the woods. It was many a long day before he fully recovered andat one time his life was in the balance; and yet to the last of hisdays he never fully realized the folly of his insensate attacks on thecreature that fights with its tail. 

"It is ever so, " said the Indian. "The lynx, the panther, the wolf, thefox, the eagle, all that attack the Kahk must die. Once my father sawa 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 sunkdeeper and his jaws swelled so he could not open or shut his mouthto eat; then he starved. My people found him near a fish pond below arapid. There were many fish. The bear could kill them with his paw butnot eat, so with his mouth wide open and plenty about him he died ofstarvation in that pool. 

"There is but one creature that can kill the Kahk that is the Ojeeg thebig fisher weasel. He is a devil. He makes very strong medicine; theKahk cannot harm him. He turns it on its back and tears open its smoothbelly. It is ever so. We not know, but my father said, that it isbecause when in the flood Nana Bojou was floating on the log with Kahkand Ojeeg, Kahk was insolent and wanted the highest place, but Ojeeg wasrespectful to Nana Bojou, he bit the Kahk to teach him a lesson and gotlashed with the tail of many stings. But the Manito drew out the quillsand said: 'It shall be ever thus; the Ojeeg shall conquer the Kahk andthe quills of Kahk shall never do Ojeeg any harm. '"

Chapter 25. The Otter Slide

It was late now and the hunters camped in the high cool woods. Skookumwhined in his sleep so loudly as to waken them once or twice. Near dawnthey heard the howling of wolves and the curiously similar hooting ofa horned owl. There is, indeed, almost no difference between the shortopening 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, thena familiar chuckle. He sat up and saw Skookum sadly lift his misshapenhead to gaze at a row of black-breasted grouse partridge on a branchabove, but the poor doggie was feeling too sick to take any activeinterest. 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 nearestwillow and cut a long slender rod at least two feet long; on the top ofthis he made a short noose of cord. Then he went cautiously under thewatching grouse, the spruce partridges, and reaching up slipped thenoose over the neck of the first one; a sharp jerk then tightened noose, and brought the grouse tumbling out of the tree while its companionsmerely clucked their puzzlement, made no effort to escape. 

A short, sharp blow put the captive out of pain. The rod was reachedagain and a second, the lowest always, was jerked down, and the trickrepeated till three grouse were secured. Then only did it dawn on theothers that they were in a most perilous neighbourhood, so they tookflight. 

Rolf sat up in amazement. Quonab dropped the three birds by the fire andset 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. Poorlittle dog! he was, indeed, a sorry sight. He looked sadly out of hisbulging eyes, feebly moved swollen jaws, but did not touch the food heonce would have pounced on. He did not eat because he could not open hismouth. 

At camp the trappers made a log trap and continued the line with blazesand deadfalls, until, after a mile, they came to a broad tamarack swamp, and, skirting its edge, found a small, outflowing stream that broughtthem to an eastward-facing hollow. Everywhere there were signs game, but they were not prepared for the scene that opened as they cautiouslypushed through the thickets into a high, hardwood bush. A deer roseout of the grass and stared curiously at them; then another and anotheruntil 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 slopethat rose to the north. There may have been twenty or thirty deer insight, 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 thehundreds and the joy of seeing so many beautiful live things was helpedin 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 importantrivulets joined on. They found some old beaver signs but none new; andthey left their deadfalls every quarter mile or less. 

The stream began to descend more quickly until it was in a long, narrowvalley with steep clay sides and many pools. Here they saw again andagain the tracks and signs of otter and coming quietly round a turn thatopened a new reach they heard a deep splash, then another and another. 

The hunters' first thought was to tie up Skookum, but a glance showedthat this was unnecessary. They softly dropped the packs and the sickdog lay meekly down beside them. Then they crept forward with huntercaution, favoured by an easterly breeze. Their first thought was ofbeaver, but they had seen no recent sign, nor was there anything thatlooked like a beaver pond. The measured splash, splash, splash--was notso far ahead. It might be a bear snatching fish, or--no, that was toounpleasant--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 oppositethey saw a sight but rarely glimpsed by man. Here were six otters; twoevidently full-grown, and four seeming young of the pair, engaged in amost hilarious and human game of tobogganing down a steep clay hill toplump into a deep part at its foot. 

Plump went the largest, presumably the father; down he went, to reappearat the edge, scramble out and up an easy slope to the top of thetwenty-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 onthe long clay chute made it greasier and slipperier every time. 

Splash, plump, splash--splash, plump, splash, went the otter familygleefully, 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 ofit all, was absorbingly amusing. The trappers gazed with pleasure thatshowed how near akin are naturalist and hunter. Of course, they hadsome covetous thought connected with those glossy hides, but thiswas 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 allat once a loud but muffled yelp was heard and Skookum, forgetting allcaution, came leaping down the bank to take a hand. 

With a succession of shrill, birdy chirps the old otters warned theiryoung. Plump, plump, plump, all shot into the pool, but to reappear, swimming with heads out, for they were but slightly alarmed. This wastoo 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 thebank now rushed the hunters, joined by Skookum, to attack the ottersin 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, downthe open, gravelly stream the old ones uttering loud chirps that ranglike screams. Under the fallen logs and brush they glided, dodgingbeneath roots and over banks, pursued by the hunters, each armed with aclub and by Skookum not armed at all. 

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

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

Chapter 26. Back to the Cabin

The far end of the long swamp the stream emerged, now much larger, andthe trappers kept on with their work. When night fell they had completedfifty 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 managedto 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 viewof their lake, though it was at least five miles away. Down the creekthey went, still making their deadfalls at likely places and stillseeing game tracks at the muddy spots. The creek came at length to anextensive, open, hardwood bush, and here it was joined by another streamthat came from the south, the two making a small river. From then onthey seemed in a land of game; trails of deer were seen on the groundeverywhere, and every few minutes they started one or two deer. Theshady oak wood itself was flanked and varied with dense cedar swampssuch as the deer love to winter in, and after they had tramped throughtwo miles of it, the Indian said, "Good! now we know where to come inwinter when we need meat. "

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next morning he went forth with fish-line and fish-spear; he soonreturned 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. "Thatwill make a charm that every bear will come to, " he said, and left itto the action of the sun. 

Chapter 27. Sick Dog Skookum

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

Quonab studied the tracks and announced "a bad old black bear; he hasrollicked round for mischief, upsetting things. But the venison he couldnot reach; that was a marten that ripped open the bag. "

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

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

"No, " replied the lad, "Skookum is not fit to travel now. We can't leavehim 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 standit. This seemed to help him so much that he swallowed eagerly some soupthat they poured into his mouth. A bed was made for him in a sunny placeand the hunters set about the new building. 

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

He stopped suddenly; stared across the lake. Rolf looked, and here camethree deer, two bucks and a doe, trotting, walking, or lightly clearingobstacles, the doe in advance; the others, rival followers. As they keptalong the shore, they came nearer the cabin. Rolf glanced at Quonab, whonodded, then slipped in, got down the gun, and quickly glided unseen tothe 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 neckswere swelling, and they threatened each other as they trotted after theleader. They made for the ford as for some familiar path, and splashedthrough, almost without swimming. As they landed, Rolf waited a clearview, then gave a short sharp "Hist!" It was like a word of magic, forit turned the three moving deer to three stony-still statues. Rolf'ssights were turned on the smaller buck, and when the great cloudfollowing the bang had deared away, the two were gone and the lesserbuck 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 thesupplies to be hung in the new storehouse. 

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

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

Chapter 28. 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 secondfaintly wagged his tail; but clearly he was on the mend. 

Now the chinking and moss-plugging of the new cabin required allattention. That took a day and looked like the biggest job on hand, butRolf had been thinking hard about the winter. In Connecticut thewiser settlers used to bank their houses for the cold weather; in theAdirondacks he knew it was far, far colder, and he soon decided to bankthe two shanties as deeply as possible with earth. A good spade made ofwhite oak, with its edge hardened by roasting it brown, was his firstnecessity, and after two days of digging he had the cabin with its annexburied up to "the eyes" in fresh, clean earth. 

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

Which of us that has been left alone in the wilderness does not rememberthe sensations of the first day! The feeling of self-dependency, notunmixed with unrestraint; the ending of civilized thought; the totalreversion to the primitive; the nearness of the wood-folk; a sense ofintimacy; a recurrent feeling of awe at the silent inexorability ofall around; and a sweet pervading sense of mastery in the very freedom. These were among the feelings that swept in waves through Rolf, andwhen the first night came, he found such comfort--yes, he had to confessit--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 andnights that he was alone they lost all force. 

The hunter proverb about "strange beasts when you have no gun" was amplyillustrated now that Quonab had gone with their only firearm. The secondnight before turning in (he slept in the shanty now), he was taking alast look at the stars, when a large, dark form glided among the treetrunks between him and the shimmering lake; stopped, gazed at him, thensilently disappeared along the shore. No wonder that he kept the shantydoor closed that night, and next morning when he studied the sandyridges he read plainly that his night visitor had been not a lynx or afox, but a prowling cougar or panther. 

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

Rolf was no coward, but the sight of that monster so close to him sethis scalp a-prickling. He felt so helpless without any firearms. Hestepped into the cabin, took down his bow and arrows, then gave acontemptuous "Humph; all right for partridge and squirrels, but give mea rifle for the woods!" He went out again; there was the moose standingas before. The lad rushed toward it a few steps, shouting; it staredunmoved. But Rolf was moved, and he retreated to the cabin. Thenremembering the potency of fire he started a blaze on the hearth. Thethick smoke curled up on the still air, hung low, made swishes throughthe 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 thecreature's soul, and wheeling it started at its best pace to the distantswamp, to be seen no more. 

Five times, during these four days, did deer come by and behave asthough 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 scenein the trader's store, --when last month he had been offered a beautifulrifle for twenty-five dollars, to be paid for in fur next spring, andsavagely he blamed himself for not realizing what a chance it was. Thenand there he made resolve to be the owner of a gun as soon as anotherchance came, and to make that chance come right soon. 

One little victory he had in that time. The creature that had torn openthe venison bag was still around the camp; that was plain by the furtherdamage on the bag hung in the storehouse, the walls of which were notchinked. Mindful of Quonab's remark, he set two marten traps, one onthe roof, near the hole that had been used as entry; the other on a logalong which the creature must climb to reach the meat. The method ofsetting is simple; a hollow is made, large enough to receive the trapas 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 thatin leaping over these the creature will land on the lurking snare. Thechain was made fast to a small log. 

Although so seldom seen there is no doubt that the marten comes outchiefly by day. That night the trap remained unsprung; next morningas Rolf went at silent dawn to bring water from the lake, he noticeda long, dark line that proved to be ducks. As he sat gazing he hearda sound in the tree beyond the cabin. It was like the scratching ofa squirrel climbing about. Then he saw the creature, a large, darksquirrel, it seemed. It darted up this tree and down that, over logs andunder brush, with the lightning speed of a lightning squirrel, and fromtime to time it stopped still as a bump while it gazed at some far andsuspicious object. Up one trunk it went like a brown flash, and a momentlater, out, cackling from its top, flew two partridges. Down to theground, sinuous, graceful, incessantly active flashed the marten. Alonga log it raced in undulating leaps; in the middle it stopped as thoughfrozen, to gaze intently into a bed of sedge; with three billowy boundsits sleek form reached the sedge, flashed in and out again with amouse in its snarling jaws; a side leap now, and another squeaker wassqueakless, and another. The three were slain, then thrown aside, as thebrown terror scanned a flight of ducks passing over. Into a thicket ofwillow it disappeared and out again like an eel going through the mud, then up a tall stub where woodpecker holes were to be seen. Into thelargest it went so quickly Rolf could scarcely see how it entered, and out in a few seconds bearing a flying squirrel whose skull it hadcrushed. Dropping the squirrel it leaped after it, and pounced again onthe quivering form with a fearsome growl; then shook it savagely, toreit apart, cast it aside. Over the ground it now undulated, its shiningyellow breast like a target of gold. Again it stopped. Now in pose likea pointer, exquisitely graceful, but oh, so wicked! Then the snakyneck swung the cobra head in the breeze and the brown one sniffed andsniffed, advanced a few steps, tried the wind and the ground. Stillfarther and the concentrated interest showed in its outstretched neckand quivering tail. Bounding into a thicket it went, when out of theother side there leaped a snowshoe rabbit, away and away for dear life. Jump, jump, jump; twelve feet at every stride, and faster than the eyecould follow, with the marten close behind. What a race it was, andhow they twinkled through the brush! The rabbit is, indeed, faster, butcourage counts for much, and his was low; but luck and his good starsurged him round to the deer trail crossing of the stream; once there hecould not turn. There was only one course. He sprang into the open riverand swam for his life. And the marten--why should it go in? It hated thewater; it was not hungry; it was out for sport, and water sport is notto 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 wingedsnake, skimming the ground like a sinister shadow, and heading for thecabin as the cabin's owner watched. Passing the body of the squirrel itpaused to rend it again, then diving into the brush came out so far awayand so soon that the watcher supposed at first that this was anothermarten. Up the shanty corner it flashed, hardly appearing to climb, swung that yellow throat and dark-brown muzzle for a second, then madetoward the entry. 

Rolf sat with staring eyes as the beautiful demon, elegantlyspurning the roof sods, went at easy, measured bounds toward the openchink--toward its doom. One, two, three--clearing the prickly cedarbush, its forefeet fell on the hidden trap; clutch, a savage shriek, aflashing, --a struggle baffling the eyes to follow, and the master of thesquirrels was himself under mastery. 

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

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

Chapter 29. Snowshoes

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

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

"We have found the good hunting, " he said, as Rolf steadied the canoe atthe landing and Skookum, nearly well again, wagged his entire ulteriorperson to welcome the wanderer home. The first thing to catch the boy'seye 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 first beaver skin he had everseen 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 hidreason have an irresistible attraction for all wild animals. To us theodour 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 themysterious castor. So that that most stenchable thing they had alreadyconcocted of fish-oil, putrescence, sewer-gas, and sunlight, whencommingled and multiplied with the dried-up powder of a castor, wasintensified into a rich, rancid, gas-exhaling hell-broth as rapturouslybewitching to our furry brothers as it is poisonously nauseating toourselves--seductive afar like the sweetest music, inexorable as fate, insidious as laughing-gas, soothing and numbing as absinthe--this, thelure 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 withblack magic and declared its use a crime. 

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

Already a good, big pile of wood was cut; both shanty and storeroomwere chinked, plugged, and banked for the winter. It was not safe yet toshoot 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 fingerwork 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 asmall 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 tooka lath and shaved it down evenly until an inch wide and three quartersof an inch thick. The exact middle was marked, and for ten inches ateach side of that it was shaved down to half an inch in thickness. Twoflat crossbars, ten and twelve inches long, were needed and holes toreceive these made half through the frame. The pot was ready boiling andby using a cord from end to end of each lath they easily bent it in themiddle and brought the wood into touch with the boiling water. Before anhour the steam had so softened the wood, and robbed it of spring, thatit was easy to make it into any desired shape. Each lath was cautiouslybent round; the crossbars slipped into their prepared sockets; atemporary lashing of cord kept all in place; then finally the frameswere set on a level place with the fore end raised two inches and aheavy log put on the frame to give the upturn to the toe. 

Here they were left to dry and the Indian set about preparing thenecessary thongs. A buckskin rolled in wet, hard wood ashes had beenleft in the mud hole. Now after a week the hair was easily scraped offand the hide, cleaned and trimmed of all loose ends and tags, was spreadout--soft, white, and supple. Beginning outside, and following round andround the edge, Quonab cut a thong of rawhide as nearly as possible aquarter 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 andthinner. He sharpened his knife and cut it much finer, at least half thewidth of the other. Now they were ready to lace the shoes, the finer forthe fore and back parts, the heavy for the middle on which the wearertreads. An expert squaw would have laughed at the rude snowshoes thatwere finished that day, but they were strong and serviceable. 

Naturally the snowshoes suggested a toboggan. That was easily made bysplitting four thin boards of ash, each six inches wide and ten feetlong. An up-curl was steamed on the prow of each, and rawhide lashingsheld all to the crossbars. 

Chapter 30. 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 andSkookum stayed with him. The dog was himself again, and more than oncein the hours of gloom dashed forth in noisy chase of something whichmorning study of the tracks showed to have been foxes. They wereattracted partly by the carrion of the deer, partly by the generalsuitability of the sandy beach for a gambolling place, and partly by afoxy 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 tothat?" 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 chieflythe foxes ran or played he chose two beaten pathways and hid the trapscarefully, exactly as he did for the marten; then selecting a couple ofsmall cedar branches he cut these and laid them across the path, one oneach side of the trap, assuming that the foxes following the usual routewould leap over the boughs and land in disaster. To make doubly sure heput a piece of meat by each trap and half-way between them set a largepiece on a stone. 

Then he sprinkled fresh earth over the pathways and around each trap andbait 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 slowlytold him all the main facts. The foxes had come as usual, and frolickedabout. They had discovered the bait and the traps at once--how couldsuch sharp noses miss them--and as quickly noted that the traps weresuspicious-smelling iron things, that manscent, hand, foot, and body, were very evident all about; that the only inducement to go forward wassome meat which was coarse and cold, not for a moment to be comparedwith the hot juicy mouse meat that abounded in every meadow. The foxeswere well fed and unhungry. Why should they venture into such evidentdanger? In a word, walls of stone could not have more completelyprotected the ground and the meat from the foxes than did the obviousnature of the traps; not a track was near, and many afar showed howquickly 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 todeodorize his traps and his boots. 

He made a fire of cedar and smoked his traps, chains, and all. Thentaking a piece of raw venison he rubbed it on his leather gloves andon the soles of his boots, wondering how he had expected to succeed thenight before with all these man-scent killers left out. He put fine, soft moss under the pan of each trap, then removed the cedar brush, andgently sprinkled all with fine, dry earth. The set was perfect; no humaneye could have told that there was any trap in the place. It seemed aforegone success. 

"Fox don't go by eye, " was all the Indian said, for he reckoned it bestto let the learner work it out. 

In the morning Rolf was up eager to see the results. There was nothingat all. A fox had indeed, come within ten feet at one place, but behavedthen as though positively amused at the childishness of the whole smellyaffair. Had a man been there on guard with a club, he could not havekept the spot more wholly clear of foxes. Rolf turned away baffled andutterly puzzled. He had not gone far before he heard a most terrificyelping from Skookum, and turned to see that trouble-seeking pup caughtby the leg in the first trap. It was more the horrible surprise than thepain, but he did howl. 

The hunters came quickly to the rescue and at once he was freed, nonethe worse, for the traps have no teeth; they merely hold. It is thelong struggle and the starvation chiefly that are cruel, and these everytrapper should cut short by going often around his line. 

Now Quonab took part. "That is a good setting for some things. It wouldcatch a coon, a mink, or a marten, --or a dog--but not a fox or a wolf. They are very clever. You shall see. "

The Indian got out a pair of thick leather gloves, smoked them in cedar, also the traps. Next he rubbed his moccasin soles with raw meat andselecting a little bay in the shore he threw a long pole on the sand, from the line of high, dry shingle across to the water's edge. Inhis hand he carried a rough stake. Walking carefully on the pole andstanding on it, he drove the stake in at about four feet from the shore;then split it, and stuffed some soft moss into the split. On this hepoured three or four drops of the "smell-charm. " Now he put a lump ofspruce gum on the pan of the trap, holding a torch under it till the gumwas fused, and into this he pressed a small, flat stone. The chain ofthe trap he fastened to a ten-pound stone of convenient shape, and sankthe stone in the water half-way between the stake and the shore. Lasthe placed the trap on this stone, so that when open everything would beunder water except the flat stone on the pan. Now he returned along thepole and dragged it away with him. 

Thus there was now no track or scent of human near the place. 

The setting was a perfect one, but even then the foxes did not go nearit the following night; they must become used to it. In their code, "Astrange thing is always dangerous. " In the morning Rolf was inclined toscoff. But Quonab said: "Wah! No trap goes first night. "

They did not need to wait for the second morning. In the middle of thenight Skookum rushed forth barking, and they followed to see a wildstruggle, the fox leaping to escape and fast to his foot was the trapwith its anchor stone a-dragging. 

Then was repeated the scene that ended the struggle of mink and marten. The creature's hind feet were tied together and his body hung from apeg in the shanty. In the morning they gloated over his splendid fur andadded his coat to their store of trophies. 

Chapter 31. Following the Trap Line

That night the moon changed. Next day came on with a strong north wind. By noon the wild ducks had left the lake. Many long strings of geesepassed southeastward, honking as they flew. Colder and colder blew thestrong wind, and soon the frost was showing on the smaller ponds. Itsnowed a little, but this ceased. With the clearing sky the wind felland the frost grew keener. 

At daybreak, when the hunters rose, it was very cold. Everything but theopen lake was frozen over, and they knew that winter was come; the timeof trapping was at hand. Quonab went at once to the pinnacle on thehill, made a little fire, then chanting the "Hunter's Prayer, " he castinto the fire the whiskers of the fox and the marten, some of thebeaver castor, and some tobacco. Then descended to prepare for thetrail--blankets, beaver traps, weapons, and food for two days, besidesthe smell-charm and some fish for bait. 

Quickly the deadfalls were baited and set; last the Indian threw intothe trap chamber a piece of moss on which was a drop of the "smell, " andwiped another drop on each of his moccasins. "Phew, " said Rolf. 

"That make a trail the marten follow for a month, " was the explanation. Skookum seemed to think so too, and if he did not say "phew, " it wasbecause he did not know how. 

Very soon the little dog treed a flock of partridge and Rolf with bluntarrows secured three. The breasts were saved for the hunters' table, butthe rest with the offal and feathers made the best of marten baits andserved for all the traps, till at noon they reached the beaver pond. It was covered with ice too thin to bear, but the freshly usedlanding places were easily selected. At each they set a strong, steelbeaver-trap, concealing it amid some dry grass, and placing in a splitstick a foot away a piece of moss in which were a few drops of the magiclure. The ring on the trap chain was slipped over a long, thin, smoothpole which was driven deep in the mud, the top pointing away fromthe deep water. The plan was old and proven. The beaver, eagerto investigate that semifriendly smell, sets foot in the trap;instinctively when in danger he dives for the deep water; the ring slipsalong the pole till at the bottom and there it jams so that the beavercannot rise again and is drowned. 

In an hour the six traps were set for the beavers; presently thehunters, skirmishing for more partridges, had much trouble to saveSkookum from another porcupine disaster. 

They got some more grouse, baited the traps for a couple of miles, thencamped for the night. 

Before morning it came on to snow and it was three inches deep when theyarose. There is no place on earth where the first snow is more beautifulthan in the Adirondacks. In early autumn nature seems to prepare forit. Green leaves are cleared away to expose the berry bunches in red;rushbeds mass their groups, turn golden brown and bow their heads tomeet the silver load; the low hills and the lines of various Christmastrees are arrayed for the finest effect: the setting is perfect and thescene, but it lacks the lime light yet. It needs must have the lavishblaze of white. And when it comes like the veil on a bride, the silvermountings on a charger's trappings, or the golden fire in a sunset, theshining crystal robe is the finishing, the crowning glory, without whichall the rest must fail, could have no bright completeness. Its beautystirred the hunters though it found no better expression than Rolf'ssimple words, "Ain't it fine, " while the Indian gazed in silence. 

There is no other place in the eastern woods where the snow hassuch manifold tales to tell, and the hunters that day tramping foundthemselves dowered over night with the wonderful power of the houndto whom each trail is a plain record of every living creature that haspassed within many hours. And though the first day after a storm hasless to tell than the second, just as the second has less than thethird, there was no lack of story in the snow. Here sped some antleredbuck, trotting along while yet the white was flying. There went afox, sneaking across the line of march, and eying distrustfully thatdeadfall. This broad trail with many large tracks not far apart wasmade by one of Skookum's friends, a knight of many spears. That boundingalong was a marten. See how he quartered that thicket like a hound, herehe struck our odour trail. Mark, how he paused and whiffed it; now awayhe goes; yes, straight to our trap. 

"It's down; hurrah!" Rolf shouted, for there, dead under the log, wasan exquisite marten, dark, almost black, with a great, broad, shiningbreast of gold. 

They were going back now toward the beaver lake. The next trap wassprung and empty; the next held the body of a red squirrel, a nuisancealways and good only to rebait the trap he springs. But the next held amarten, and the next a white weasel. Others were unsprung, but theyhad two good pelts when they reached the beaver lake. They were in highspirits with their good luck, but not prepared for the marvellous haulthat now was theirs. Each of the six traps held a big beaver, dead, drowned, and safe. Each skin was worth five dollars, and the huntersfelt rich. The incident had, moreover, this pleasing significance: Itshowed that these beavers were unsophisticated, so had not been hunted. Fifty pelts might easily be taken from these ponds. 

The trappers reset the traps; then dividing the load, sought a remoteplace to camp, for it does not do to light a fire near your beaver pond. One hundred and fifty pounds of beaver, in addition, to their packs, wasnot a load to be taken miles away; within half a mile on a lower levelthey selected a warm place, made a fire, and skinned their catch. Thebodies they opened and hung in a tree with a view to future use, but thepelts and tails they carried on. 

They made a long, hard tramp that day, baiting all the traps and reachedhome late in the night. 

Chapter 32. The Antler-bound Bucks

IN THE man-world, November is the month of gloom, despair, and manysuicides. In the wild world, November is the Mad Moon. Many and diversethe madnesses of the time, but none more insane than the rut of thewhite-tailed deer. Like some disease it appears, first in the swollennecks of the antler-bearers, and then in the feverish habits of all. Long and obstinate combats between the bucks now, characterize the time;neglecting even to eat, they spend their days and nights in rushingabout and seeking to kill. 

Their horns, growing steadily since spring, are now of full size, sharp, heavy, and cleaned of the velvet; in perfection. For what? Has Naturemade them to pierce, wound, and destroy? Strange as it may seem, theseweapons of offence are used for little but defence; less as spears thanas bucklers they serve the deer in battles with its kind. And the long, hard combats are little more than wrestling and pushing bouts; almostnever do they end fatally. When a mortal thrust is given, it is rarely agaping wound, but a sudden springing and locking of the antlers, wherebythe two deer are bound together, inextricably, hopelessly, and so sufferdeath by starvation. The records of deer killed by their rivals and lefton the duel-ground are few; very few and far between. The records ofthose killed by interlocking are numbered by the scores. 

There were hundreds of deer in this country that Rolf and Quonabclaimed. Half of them were bucks, and at least half of these engaged incombat some times or many times a day, all through November; that is tosay, probably a thousand duels were fought that month within ten milesof the cabin. It was not surprising that Rolf should witness some ofthem, and hear many more in the distance. 

They were living in the cabin now, and during the still, frosty nights, when he took a last look at the stars, before turning in, Rolf formedthe habit of listening intently for the voices of the gloom. Sometimesit was the "hoo-hoo" of the horned-owl, once or twice it was the long, smooth howl of the wolf; but many times it was the rattle of antlersthat told of two bucks far up in the hardwoods, trying out theall-important question, "Which is the better buck?"

One morning he heard still an occasional rattle at the same place as thenight before. He set out alone, after breakfast, and coming cautiouslynear, peered into a little, open space to see two bucks with headsjoined, slowly, feebly pushing this way and that. Their tongues wereout; they seemed almost exhausted, and the trampled snow for an acreabout plainly showed that they had been fighting for hours; that indeedthese were the ones he had heard in the night. Still they were evenlymatched, and the green light in their eyes told of the ferocious spiritin each of these gentle-looking deer. 

Rolf had no difficulty in walking quite near. If they saw him, they gaveslight heed to the testimony of their eyes, for the unenergetic strugglewent on until, again pausing for breath, they separated, raised theirheads a little, sniffed, then trotted away from the dreaded enemy sonear. Fifty yards off, they turned, shook their horns, seemed in doubtwhether to run away, join battle again, or attack the man. Fortunatelythe first was their choice, and Rolf returned to the cabin. 

Quonab listened to his account, then said: "You might have been killed. Every buck is crazy now. Often they attack man. My father's brother waskilled by a Mad Moon buck. They found only his body, torn to rags. Hehad got a little way up a tree, but the buck had pinned him. There werethe marks, and in the snow they could see how he held on to the deer'shorns and was dragged about till his strength gave out. He had no gun. The buck went off. That was all they knew. I would rather trust a bearthan a deer. "

The Indian's words were few, but they drew a picture all too realistic. The next time Rolf heard the far sound of a deer fight, it brought backthe horror of that hopeless fight in the snow, and gave him a new anddifferent feeling for the antler-bearer of the changing mood. 

It was two weeks after this, when he was coming in from a trip alone onpart of the line, when his ear caught some strange sounds in thewoods ahead; deep, sonorous, semi-human they were. Strange and weirdwood-notes in winter are nearly sure to be those of a raven or a jay; ifdeep, they are likely to come from a raven. 

"Quok, quok, ha, ha, ha-hreww, hrrr, hooop, hooop, " the diabolic noisescame, and Rolf, coming gently forward, caught a glimpse of sable pinionsswooping through the lower pines. 

"Ho, ho, ho yah--hew--w--w--w" came the demon laughter of the deathbirds, and Rolf soon glimpsed a dozen of them in the branches, hoppingor sometimes flying to the ground. One alighted on a brown bump. Thenthe bump began to move a little. The raven was pecking away, butagain the brown bump heaved and the raven leaped to a near perch. "Wah--wah--wah--wo--hoo--yow--wow--rrrrrr-rrrr-rrrr"--and the otherravens joined in. 

Rolf had no weapons but his bow, his pocket knife, and a hatchet. Hetook the latter in his hand and walked gently forward; the hollow-voicedravens "haw--hawed, " then flew to safe perches where they chuckled likeghouls over some extra-ghoulish joke. 

The lad, coming closer, witnessed a scene that stirred him with mingledhorror and pity. A great, strong buck--once strong, at least--wasstanding, staggering, kneeling there; sometimes on his hind legs, spasmodically heaving and tugging at a long gray form on the ground, the body of another buck, his rival, dead now, with a broken neck, asit proved, but bearing big, strong antlers with which the antlers of theliving buck were interlocked as though riveted with iron, bolted withclamps of steel. With all his strength, the living buck could barelymove his head, dragging his adversary's body with him. The snow marksshowed that at first he had been able to haul the carcass many yards;had nibbled a little at shoots and twigs; but that was when he wasstronger, was long before. How long? For days, at least, perhaps a week, that wretched buck was dying hopelessly a death that would not come. Hisgaunt sides, his parched and lolling tongue, less than a foot from thesnow and yet beyond reach, the filmy eye, whose opaque veil of death wasillumined again with a faint fire of fighting green as the new foe came. The ravens had picked the eyes out of the dead buck and eaten a hole inits back. They had even begun on the living buck, but he had been ableto use one front foot to defend his eyes; still his plight could scarcehave been more dreadful. It made the most pitiful spectacle Rolf hadever seen in wild life; yes, in all his life. He was full of compassionfor the poor brute. He forgot it as a thing to be hunted for food;thought of it only as a harmless, beautiful creature in dire andhorrible straits; a fellow-being in distress; and he at once set aboutbeing its helper. With hatchet in hand he came gently in front, andselecting an exposed part at the base of the dead buck's antler hegave a sharp blow with the hatchet. The effect on the living buck wassurprising. He was roused to vigorous action that showed him far fromdeath as yet. He plunged, then pulled backward, carrying with him thecarcass and the would-be rescuer. Then Rolf remembered the Indian'swords: "You can make strong medicine with your mouth. " He spoke tothe deer, gently, softly. Then came nearer, and tapped o'n the horn hewished to cut; softly speaking and tapping he increased his force, untilat last he was permitted to chop seriously at that prison bar. It tookmany blows, for the antler stuff is very thick and strong at this time, but the horn was loose at last. Rolf gave it a twist and the strong buckwas free. Free for what?

Oh, tell it not among the folk who have been the wild deer's friend!Hide it from all who blindly believe that gratitude must always followgood-will! With unexpected energy, with pent-up fury, with hellishpurpose, the ingrate sprang on his deliverer, aiming a blow as deadly aswas in his power. 

Wholly taken by surprise, Rolf barely had time to seize the murderer'shorns and ward them off his vitals. The buck made a furious lunge. Oh!what foul fiend was it gave him then such force?--and Rolf went down. Clinging for dear life to those wicked, shameful horns, he yelled as henever yelled before: "Quonab, Quonabi help me, oh, help me!" But hewas pinned at once, the fierce brute above him pressing on his chest, striving to bring its horns to bear; his only salvation had been thattheir wide spread gave his body room between. But the weight on hischest was crushing out his force, his life; he had no breath to callagain. How the ravens chuckled, and "haw-hawed" in the tree!

The buck's eyes gleamed again with the emerald light of murderoushate, and he jerked his strong neck this way and that with the power ofmadness. It could not last for long. The boy's strength was going fast;the beast was crushing in his chest. 

"Oh, God, help me!" he gasped, as the antlered fiend began againstruggling for the freedom of those murderous horns. The brute wasalmost free, when the ravens rose with loud croaks, and out of the woodsdashed another to join the fight. A smaller deer? No; what? Rolf knewnot, nor how, but in a moment there was a savage growl and Skookumhad the murderer by the hind leg. Worrying and tearing he had not thestrength to throw the deer, but his teeth were sharp, his heart was inhis work, and when he transferred his fierce attack to parts more tenderstill, the buck, already spent, reared, wheeled, and fell. Before hecould recover Skookum pounced upon him by the nose and hung on like avice. The buck could swing his great neck a little, and drag thedog, but he could not shake him off. Rolf saw the chance, rose to histottering legs, seized his hatchet, stunned the fierce brute with ablow. Then finding on the snow his missing knife he gave the hunterstroke that spilled the red life-blood and sank on the ground to know nomore till Quonab stood beside him. 

Chapter 33. A Song of Praise

ROLF was lying by a fire when he came to, Quonab bending over him with alook of grave concern. When he opened his eyes, the Indian smiled; sucha soft, sweet smile, with long, ivory rows in its background. 

Then he brought hot tea, and Rolf revived so he could sit up and tellthe story of the morning. 

"He is an evil Manito, " and he looked toward the dead buck; "we must noteat him. You surely made medicine to bring Skookum. "

"Yes, I made medicine with my mouth, " was the answer, "I called, Iyelled, when he came at me. "

"It is a long way from here to the cabin, " was Quonab's reply. "I couldnot hear you; Skookum could not hear you; but Cos Cob, my father, toldme that when you send out a cry for help, you send medicine, too, thatgoes farther than the cry. May be so; I do not know: my father was verywise. "

"Did you see Skookum come, Quonab?"

"No; he was with me hours after you left, but he was restless andwhimpered. Then he left me and it was a long time before I heard himbark. It was the 'something-wrong' bark. I went. He brought me here. "

"He must have followed my track all 'round the line. "

After an hour they set out for the cabin. The ravens "Ha-ha-ed" and"Ho-ho-ed" as they went. Quonab took the fateful horn that Rolf hadchopped off, and hung it on a sapling with a piece of tobacco and a redyam streamer ', to appease the evil spirit that surely was near. Thereit hung for years after, until the sapling grew to a tree that swallowedthe horn, all but the tip, which rotted away. 

Skookum took a final sniff at his fallen enemy, gave the body thecustomary expression of a dog's contempt, then led the processionhomeward. 

Not that day, not the next, but on the first day of calm, red, sunsetsky, went Quonab to his hill of worship; and when the little fire thathe lit sent up its thread of smoke, like a plumb-line from the red cloudover him, he burnt a pinch of tobacco, and, with face and arms upraisedin the red light, he sang a new song:

 "The evil one set a trap for my son, But the Manito saved him; In the form of a Skookum he saved him. "

Chapter 34. The Birch-bark Vessels

Rolf was sore and stiff for a week afterward; so was Skookum. There weretimes when Quonab was cold, moody, and silent for days. Then some milderwind would blow in the region of his heart and the bleak ice surfacemelted into running rills of memory or kindly emanation. 

Just before the buck adventure, there had been an unpleasant time ofchill and aloofness. It arose over little. Since the frost had come, sealing the waters outside, Quonab would wash his hands in the vesselthat was also the bread pan. Rolf had New England ideas of proprietyin cooking matters, and finally he forgot the respect due to age andexperience. That was one reason why he went out alone that day. Now, with time to think things over, the obvious safeguard would be to havea wash bowl; but where to get it? In those days, tins were scarce andex-pensive. It was the custom to look in the woods for nearly all thenecessaries of life; and, guided by ancient custom and experience, theyseldom looked in vain. Rolf had seen, and indeed made, watering troughs, pig troughs, sap troughs, hen troughs, etc. , all his life, and he nowset to work with the axe and a block of basswood to hew out a troughfor a wash bowl. With adequate tools he might have made a good one; but, working with an axe and a stiff arm, the result was a very heavy, crudeaffair. It would indeed hold water, but it was almost impossible to dipit into the water hole, so that a dipper was needed. 

When Quonab saw the plan and the result, he said: "In my father's lodgewe had only birch bark. See; I shall make a bowl. " He took from thestorehouse a big roll of birch bark, gathered in warm weather (it canscarcely be done in cold), for use in repairing the canoe. Selecting agood part he cut out a square, two feet each way, and put it in the bigpot which was full of boiling water. At the same time he soaked withit a bundle of wattap, or long fibrous roots of the white spruce, alsogathered before the frost came, with a view to canoe repairs in thespring. 

While these were softening in the hot water, he cut a couple of longsplints of birch, as nearly as possible half an inch wide and an eighthof an inch thick, and put them to steep with the bark. Next he made twoor three straddle pins or clamps, like clothes pegs, by splitting theends of some sticks which had a knot at one end. 

Now he took out the spruce roots, soft and pliant, and selecting a lotthat were about an eighth of an inch in diameter, scraped off the barkand roughness, until he had a bundle of perhaps ten feet of soft, even, white cords. 

The bark was laid flat and cut as below. 

The rounding of A and B is necessary, for the holes of the sewing wouldtear the piece off if all were on the same line of grain. Each cornerwas now folded and doubled on itself (C), then held so with a straddlepin (D). The rim was trimmed so as to be flat where it crossed the fibreof the bark, and arched where it ran along. The pliant rods of birchwere bent around this, and using the large awl to make holes, Quonabsewed the rim rods to the bark with an over-lapping stitch that madea smooth finish to the edge, and the birch-bark wash pan was complete. (E. ) Much heavier bark can be used if the plan F G be followed, but itis hard to make it water-tight. 

So now they had a wash pan and a cause of friction was removed. Rolffound it amusing as well as useful to make other bark vessels of varyingsizes for dippers and dunnage. It was work that he could do now while hewas resting and recovering and he became expert. After watching a fairlysuccessful 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 bythe 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 killonly 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 anotherchapter. 

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 areadmirable 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 getsome. "

So forth he went to a hemlock tree, and cut till he could gather theinner 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 comesonly from berries; the best is the blitum. We call it squaw-berry andmis-caw-wa, yellow comes from the yellow root (Hydrastis). "

But black, white, orange, pink, brown, and a dull red made by a doubledip of orange and pink, are a good range of colour. The method in usingthe quills is simple. An awl to make holes in the bark for each;the rough parts behind are concealed afterward with a lining of barkstitched over them; and before the winter was over, Rolf had made abirch-bark box, decorated lid and all, with porcupine quill work, inwhich he kept the sable skin that was meant to buy Annette's newdress, the costume she had dreamed of, the ideal and splendid, almostunbelievable vision of her young life, ninety-five cents' worth ofcotton print. 

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

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

Two days later, Rolf chanced to see his friend behind the shanty giveSkookum the pan to clean off after they had been frying deer fat. TheIndian had no idea that Rolf was near, nor did he ever learn the truthof it. 

That night, after midnight, the lad rose quietly, lighted the pinesplints that served them for a torch, rubbed some charcoal around eacheye to make dark rings that should supply a horror-stricken look. Thenhe 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, bawlingand drumming and staring upward into vacant space. After a few minutesSkookum scratched and whined at the shanty door. Rolf rose, took hisknife, cut a bunch of hair from Skookum's neck and burned it in thetorch, 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 thefrying pan behind the shanty. He laughed, for he knew that he made evilmedicine for me. I am trying to drive him away, so he cannot harm me. Ido not know. I am like my mother. She was very wise, but she died afterit. "

Now Quonab arose, cut some more hair from Skookum, added a pinch oftobacco, then, setting it ablaze, he sang in the rank odour of theburning 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 andsacred post of pot-licker, dishwasher, or final polisher. 

Chapter 35. Snaring Rabbits

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

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

"I can shoot one with my bow, " was the answer, "but why should I, whenwe 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 notsafe 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 manywhite bunnies, but always in the thickest woods. Again and again hetried, but the tantalizing twigs and branches muffled the bow andturned the arrow. It was hours before he returned with a fluffy snowshoerabbit. 

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

Next morning they went around and found that four of the snares hadeach 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 openand turned out a curious-looking object about the size of an acorn, flattened, made of flesh and covered with hair, and nearly the shape ofa large bean. He gazed at it, and, turning to Rolf, said with intensemeaning:

"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 rabbitthrough each. An hour later, when they returned, they found a rabbittaken in the first snare. 

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

"Hark! what is that?" A faint sound of rustling branches, and some shortanimal 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 thatanimals have no language? His merry "yip, yip, yip, " for partridge up atree, or his long, hilarious, "Yow, yow, yow, " when despite all ordershe chased some deer, were totally distinct from the angry "Yap, yap, "he gave for the bear up the tree, or the "Grrryapgrryap, " with which hevoiced 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 followedthe sound. Something up a tree! A whole menagerie it seemed to Rolf whenthey got there. Hanging by the neck in the remaining snare, and limpnow, was a young lynx, a kit of the year. In the adjoining tree, withSkookum circling and yapping 'round the base, was a savage old lynx. In the crotch above her was another young one, and still higher was athird, all looking their unutterable disgust at the noisy dog below;the mother, indeed, expressing it in occasional hisses, but none of themdaring to come down and face him. The lynx is very good fur and veryeasy prey. The Indian brought the old one down with a shot; then, asfast as he could reload, the others were added to the bag, and, with theone from the snare, they returned laden to the cabin. 

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

Chapter 36. Something Wrong at the Beaver Traps

Once they had run the trap lines, and their store of furs was increasingfinely. They had taken twenty-five beavers and counted on getting twoor three each time they went to the ponds. But they got an unpleasantsurprise in December, on going to the beaver grounds, to find all thetraps empty and unmistakable signs that some man had been there and hadgone 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 allsigns were lost. 

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 37. The Pekan or Fisher

There was one large track in the snow that they saw several times--itwas 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 notknow what it was; it seemed only a big black marten. It was wounded, butsprang 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 grandfatherwas 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 myfather's heart and mine. " Then glancing toward the west he continued ina 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 theymet it again. 

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

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

They had not followed far before another track joined on--the trackof the fisher-pekan; and soon after they heard in the woods aheadscratching 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, therewas 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 hindquarters and tail only exposed, was a large porcupine. Both werevery still, but soon the fisher snarled and made a forward lunge. Theporcupine, 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 wasmade on the other side, with the same result; then many, as though thefisher 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 tostrike upward, while many white daggers already sunk in the bark showedthat these tactics had been going on for some time. 

Now the two spectators saw by the trail that a similar battle hadbeen fought at another log, and that the porcupine trail from that wasspotted 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 newmanceuvre. Starting on the opposite side of the log that protected thespiny one's nose, he burrowed quickly through the snow and leaves. Thelog was about three inches from the ground, and before the porcupinecould realize it, the fisher had a space cleared and seized the spinyone by its soft, unspiny nose. Grunting and squealing it pulled back andlashed its terrible tail. To what effect? Merely to fill the log aroundwith quills. With all its strength the quill-pig pulled and writhed, butthe fisher was stronger. His claws enlarged the hole and when the victimceased from exhaustion, the fisher made a forward dash and changedhis hold from the tender nose to the still more tender throat of theporcupine. His hold was not deep enough and square enough to seize thewindpipe, but he held on. For a minute or two the struggles of Kahk wereof 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 waitinggame. 

The heaving and backward pulling of Kahk were very feeble at length; thefisher had nearly finished the fight. But he was impatient of furtherdelay and backing out of the hole he mounted the log, displaying a muchscratched nose; then reaching down with deft paw, near the quill-pig'sshoulder, 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, andcrushed and tore. The nerveless, almost quilless tail could not harm himthere. The red blood flowed and the porcupine lay still. Again and againas he uttered chesty growls the pekan ground his teeth into the warmflesh and shook and worried the unconquerable one he had conquered. Hewas licking his bloody chops for the twentieth time, gloating in gore, when "crack" went Quonab's gun, and the pekan had an opportunity ofresuming the combat with Kahk far away in the Happy Hunting. 

"Yap, yap, yap!" and in rushed Skookum, dragging the end of Rolf's sashwhich 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 theporcupine was belly up, that Skookum did not have another hospitalexperience. 

This was Rolf's first sight of a fisher, and he examined it as one doesany animal--or man--that one has so long heard described in superlativeterms that it has become idealized into a semi-myth. This was thedesperado 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 andvenison, 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 toSkookum, saying to the one, "I give you a pekan heart;" and to thedog, "That will force all of the quills out of you if you play the foolagain, 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 fightof the same kind, but none of them had done any damage. There was noinflammation or sign of poisoning. "It is ever so, " said Quonab, "thequills cannot hurt him. " Then, turning to the porcupine, he remarked, ashe prepared to skin it:

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

Chapter 38. The Silver Fox

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

"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 gowhere 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 trydifferent. "

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

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

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

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

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

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 therewas a snowfall, and the third morning Quonab said, "Now seem like goodtime. "

The first trap was untouched, but there was clearly the track of a largefox 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 wanderingpast; his keen nose soon apprised him of a strong, queer appeal nearby. He had gone unsuspiciously toward it, sniffed and pawed theunaccountable and exciting nose medicine; then "snap!" and he had sprunga dozen feet, with that diabolic smell-thing hanging to his foot. Hop, hop, hop, the terrified deer had gone into a slashing windfall. Then thedrag 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 soughtsafer regions. 

In the next trap they found a beautiful marten dead, killed at onceby the clutch of steel. The last trap was gone, but the tracks and themarks told a tale that any one could read; a fox had been beguiled andhad 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 mealwhile Quonab gathered the pelt. After removing the skin the Indian cutdeep and carefully into the body of the fox and removed the bladder. Itscontents sprinkled near each of the traps was good medicine, he said; aview 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 bysmell-spells or kidney products, no matter how temptingly arrayed. Thetrappers did, indeed, capture three red foxes; but it was at cost ofgreat labour. It was a venture that did not pay. The silver fox wasthere, but he took too good care of his precious hide. The slightesthint of a man being near was enough to treble his already doublewariness. They would never have seen him near at hand, but for astirring episode that told a tale of winter hardship. 

Chapter 39. The Humiliation of Skookum

If Skookum could have been interviewed by a newspaper man, he woulddoubtless 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 waslicked in fact: but my really marvellous gift is my speed; I'm a terrorto run. "

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

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

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

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

"That's for me, " Skookum seemed to think, and jumping up, with a veryfierce 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 wastoo late. He was out to catch that fox; their business was to look onand applaud. The fox sat on his haunches, grinning apparently, untilSkookum dashed through the snow within twenty yards. Then, that shining, black fox loped gently away, his huge tail level out behind him, andSkookum, sure of success, raced up, within six or seven yards. A fewmore leaps now, and the victory would be won. But somehow he could notclose 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 headedfor the shore, but the fox wheeled back to the ice and up and down. Skookum felt it was because escape was hopeless, and he redoubledhis effort. But all in vain. He was only wearing himself out, pantingnoisily 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; thenaudaciously turned around and sat down in the snow. 

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

It was maddening. Skookum's pride was touched. 

He was in to win or break. His supreme effort brought him within fivefeet of that white-tipped brush. Then, strange to tell, the big blackfox put forth his large reserve of speed, and making for the woods, left Skookum far behind. Why? The cause was clear. Quonab, after vainlywatching for a chance to shoot, that would not endanger the dog, had, under cover, crept around the lake and now was awaiting in a thicket. But the fox's keen nose had warned him. He knew that the funny part wasover, so ran for the woods and disappeared as a ball tossed up the snowbehind him. 

Poor Skookum's tongue was nearly a foot long as he walked meekly ashore. He looked depressed; his tail was depressed; so were his ears; but therewas nothing to show whether he would have told that reporter that he"wasn't feeling up to his usual, to-day, " or "Didn't you see me get thebest of him?"

Chapter 40. The Rarest of Pelts

They saw that silver fox three or four times during the winter, and oncefound that he had had the audacity to jump from a high snowdrift ontothe storehouse and thence to the cabin roof, where he had feasted onsome white rabbits kept there for deadfall baits. But all attempts totrap or shoot him were vain, and their acquaintance might have ended asit began, but for an accident. 

It proved a winter of much snow. Heavy snow is the worst misfortune thatcan befall the wood folk in fur. It hides their food beyond reach, andit checks their movements so they can neither travel far in search ofprovender nor run fast to escape their enemies. Deep snow then meansfetters, starvation, and death. There are two ways of meeting theproblem: stilts and snowshoes. The second is far the better. Thecaribou, and the moose have stilts; the rabbit, the panther, and thelynx wear snowshoes. When there are three or four feet of soft snow, thelynx is king of all small beasts, and little in fear of the large ones. Man on his snowshoes has most wild four-foots at his mercy. 

Skookum, without either means of meeting the trouble was left much alonein the shanty. Apparently, it was on one of these occasions that thesilver fox had driven him nearly frantic by eating rabbits on the roofabove him. 

The exasperating robbery of their trap line had gone on irregularly allwinter, but the thief was clever enough or lucky enough to elude them. 

They were returning to the cabin after a three days' round, when theysaw, far out on the white expanse of the lake, two animals, alternatelyrunning and fighting. "Skookum and the fox, " was the first thought thatcame, but on entering the cabin Skookum greeted them in person. 

Quonab gazed intently at the two running specks and said: "One has notail. I think it is a peeshoo (lynx) and a fox. "

Rolf was making dinner. From time to time he glanced over the lake andsaw the two specks, usually running. After dinner was over, he said, "Let's sneak 'round and see if we can get a shot. "

So, putting on their snowshoes and keeping out of sight, they skimmedover the deer crossing and through the woods, till at a point near thefighters, and there they saw something that recalled at once the day ofSkookum's humiliation. 

A hundred yards away on the open snow was a huge lynx and theirold friend, the black and shining silver fox, face to face; the foxdesperate, showing his rows of beautiful teeth, but sinking belly deepin the snow as he strove to escape. Already he was badly wounded. Inany case he was at the mercy of the lynx who, in spite of his greaterweight, had such broad and perfect snowshoes that he skimmed on thesurface, while the fox's small feet sank deep. The lynx was far fromfresh, and still stood in some awe of those rows of teeth that snappedlike traps when he came too near. He was minded, of course, to kill hisblack rival, but not to be hurt in doing so. Again and again there wasin some sort a closing fight, the wearied fox plunging breathlesslythrough the treacherous, relentless snow. If he could only get back tocover, he might find a corner to protect his rear and have some fightingchance for life. But wherever he turned that huge cat faced him, doublyarmed, and equipped as a fox can never be for the snow. 

No one could watch that plucky fight without feeling his sympathies goout to the beautiful silver fox. Rolf, at least, was for helping him toescape, when the final onset came. In another dash for the woods the foxplunged out of sight in a drift made soft by sedge sticking through, andbefore he could recover, the lynx's jaws closed on the back of his neckand the relentless claws had pierced his vitals. 

The justification of killing is self-preservation, and in this case theproof would have been the lynx making a meal of the fox. Did he doso? Not at all. He shook his fur, licked his chest and paws in aself-congratulatory way, then giving a final tug at the body, walkedcalmly over the snow along the shore. 

Quonab put the back of his hand to his mouth and made a loud squeaking, much like a rabbit caught in a snare. The lynx stopped, wheeled, andcame trotting straight toward the promising music. Unsuspectingly hecame within twenty yards of the trappers. The flint-lock banged and thelynx was kicking in the snow. 

The beautiful silver fox skin was very little injured and proved ofvalue almost to double their catch so far; while the lynx skin was asgood as another marten. 

They now had opportunity of studying the tracks and learned that the foxhad been hunting rabbits in a thicket when he was set on by the lynx. At first he had run around in the bushes and saved himself from seriousinjury, for the snow was partly packed by the rabbits. After perhaps anhour of this, he had wearied and sought to save himself by abandoningthe lynx's territory, so had struck across the open lake. But here thesnow was too soft to bear him at all, and the lynx could still skimover. So it proved a fatal error. He was strong and brave. He fought atleast another hour here before the much stronger, heavier lynx haddone him to death. There was no justification. It was a clear case oftyrannical murder, but in this case vengeance was swift and justice camesooner than its wont. 

Chapter 41. The Enemy's Fort

 It pays 'bout once in a hundred times to git mad, but there ain't any way o' tellin' beforehand which is the time. --Sayings of Si Sylvanne. 

It generally took two days to run the west line of traps. At aconvenient point they had built a rough shack for a half-way house. Onentering this one day, they learned that since their last visit it hadbeen occupied by some one who chewed tobacco. Neither of them had thishabit. Quonab's face grew darker each time fresh evidence of the enemywas discovered, and the final wrong was added soon. 

Some trappers mark their traps; some do not bother. Rolf had marked allof theirs with a file, cutting notches on the iron. Two, one, three, wastheir mark, and it was a wise plan, as it turned out. 

On going around the west beaver pond they found that all six traps haddisappeared. In some, there was no evidence of the thief; in some, thetracks showed clearly that they were taken by the same interloper thathad bothered them all along, and on a jagged branch was a short blueyarn. 

"Now will I take up his trail and kill him, " said the Indian. 

Rolf had opposed extreme measures, and again he remonstrated. To hissurprise, the Indian turned fiercely and said: "You know it is whiteman. If he was Indian would you be patient? No!"

"There is plenty of country south of the lake; maybe he was here first. "

"You know he was not. You should eat many pekan hearts. I have soughtpeace, now I fight. "

He shouldered his pack, grasped his gun, and his snowshoes went "tssape, tssape, tssape, " over the snow. 

Skookum was sitting by Rolf. He rose to resume the march, and trotteda few steps on Quonab's trail. Rolf did not move; he was dazed by thesudden and painful situation. Mutiny is always worse than war. Skookumlooked back, trotted on, still Rolf sat staring. Quonab's figure waslost in the distance; the dog's was nearly so. Rolf moved not. All theevents of the last year were rushing through his mind; the refuge hehad found with the Indian; the incident of the buck fight and the tendernurse the red man proved. He wavered. Then he saw Skookum coming backon the trail. The dog trotted up to the boy and dropped a glove, one ofQuonab's. Undoubtedly the Indian had lost it; Skookum had found it onthe trail and mechanically brought it to the nearest of his masters. Without that glove Quonab's hand would freeze. Rolf rose and sped alongthe other's trail. Having taken the step, he found it easy to send along halloo, then another and another, till an answer came. In a fewminutes Rolf came up. The Indian was sitting on a log, waiting. Theglove was handed over in silence, and received with a grunt. 

After a minute or two, Rolf said "Let's get on, " and started on the dimtrail of the robber. 

For an hour or two they strode in silence. Then their course rose asthey reached a rocky range. Among its bare, wind-swept ridges all signwas lost, but the Indian kept on till they were over and on the otherside. A far cast in the thick, windless woods revealed the trail again, surely the same, for the snowshoe was two fingers wider on every side, and a hand-breadth longer than Quonab's; besides the right frame hadbeen broken and the binding of rawhide was faintly seen in the snowmark. It was a mark they had seen all winter, and now it was headed asbefore for the west. 

When night came down, they camped in a hollow. They were used to snowcamps. In the morning they went on, but wind and snow had hidden theirtell-tale guide. 

What was the next move? Rolf did not ask, but wondered. 

Quonab evidently was puzzled. 

At length Rolf ventured: "He surely lives by some river--that way--andwithin a day's journey. This track is gone, but we may strike a freshone. We'll know it when we see it. "

The friendly look came back to the Indian's face. "You are Nibowaka. "

They had not gone half a mile before they found a fresh track--their oldacquaintance. Even Skookum showed his hostile recognition. And in a fewminutes it led them to a shanty. They slipped off their snowshoes, and hung them in a tree. Quonab opened the door without knocking. Theyentered, and in a moment were face to face with a lanky, ill-favouredwhite man that all three, including Skookum, recognized as Hoag, the manthey had met at the trader's. 

That worthy made a quick reach for his rifle, but Quonab covered him andsaid in tones that brooked no discussion, "Sit down!"

Hoag did so, sullenly, then growled: "All right; my partners will behere in ten minutes. "

Rolf was startled. Quonab and Skookum were not. 

"We settled your partners up in the hills, " said the former, knowingthat one bluff was as good as another. Skookum growled and sniffed atthe enemy's legs. The prisoner made a quick move with his foot. 

"You kick that dog again and it's your last kick, " said the Indian. 

"Who's kicked yer dog, and what do you mean coming here with yercutthroat ways? You'll find there's law in this country before yerthrough, " was the answer. 

"That's what we're looking for, you trap robber, you thief. We're herefirst to find our traps; second to tell you this: the next time you comeon our line there'll be meat for the ravens. Do you suppose I don'tknow them?" and the Indian pointed to a large pair of snowshoes with longheels and a repair lashing on the right frame. "See that blue yarn, " andthe Indian matched it with a blue sash hanging to a peg. 

"Yes, them belongs to Bill Hawkins; he'll be 'round in five minutesnow. "

The Indian made a gesture of scorn; then turning to Rolf said: "look'round for our traps. " Rolf made a thorough search in and about theshanty and the adjoining shed. He found some traps but none with hismark; none of a familiar make even. 

"Better hunt for a squaw and papoose, " sneered Hoag, who was utterlypuzzled by the fact that now Rolf was obviously a white lad. 

But all the search was vain. Either Hoag had not stolen the traps or hadhidden them elsewhere. The only large traps they found were two of thelargest size for taking bear. 

Hoag's torrent of bad language had been quickly checked by the threat ofturning Skookum loose on his legs, and he looked such a grovelling beastthat presently the visitors decided to leave him with a warning. 

The Indian took the trapper's gun, fired it off out of doors, not inthe least perturbed by the possibility of its being heard by Hoag'spartners. He knew they were imaginary. Then changing his plan, he said"Ugh! You find your gun in half a mile on our trail. But don't comefarther and don't let me see the snowshoe trail on the divide again. Them ravens is awful hungry. "

Skookum, to his disappointment, was called off and, talking thetrapper's gun for a time, they left it in a bush and made for their owncountry. 

Chapter 42. Skookum's Panther

"Why are there so few deer tracks now?"

"Deer yarded for winter, " replied the Indian; "no travel in deep snow. "

"We'll soon need another, " said Rolf, which unfortunately was true. Theycould have killed many deer in early winter, when the venison was infine condition, but they had no place to store it. Now they must get itas they could, and of course it was thinner and poorer every week. 

They were on a high hill some days later. There was a clear view andthey noticed several ravens circling and swooping. 

"Maybe dead deer; maybe deer yard, " said the Indian. 

It was over a thick, sheltered, and extensive cedar swamp near the woodswhere last year they had seen so many deer, and they were not surprisedto find deer tracks in numbers, as soon as they got into its densethicket. 

A deer yard is commonly supposed to be a place in which the deer have adaily "bee" at road work all winter long and deliberately keep the snowhammered down so they can run on a hard surface everywhere within itslimits. The fact is, the deer gather in a place where there is plentyof food and good shelter. The snow does not drift here, so the deer, by continually moving about, soon make a network of tracks in alldirections, extending them as they must to seek more food. They may, of course, leave the yard at any time, but at once they encounter thedreaded obstacle of deep, soft snow in which they are helpless. 

Once they reached the well-worn trails, the hunters took off theirsnowshoes and went gently on these deer paths. They saw one or twodisappearing forms, which taught them the thick cover was hiding manymore. They made for the sound of the ravens, and found that the feast ofthe sable birds was not a deer but the bodies of three, quite recentlykilled. 

Quonab made a hasty study of the signs and said, "Panther. "

Yes, a panther, cougar, or mountain lion also had found the deer yard;and here he was living, like a rat in a grocer shop with nothing to dobut help himself whenever he felt like feasting. 

Pleasant for the panther, but hard on the deer; for the killer iswasteful and will often kill for the joy of murder. 

Not a quarter of the carcasses lying here did he eat; he was feeding atleast a score of ravens, and maybe foxes, martens, and lynxes as well. 

Before killing a deer, Quonab thought it well to take a quiet prowlaround in hopes of seeing the panther. Skookum was turned loose andencouraged to display his talents. 

Proud as a general with an ample and obedient following, he dashedahead, carrying fresh dismay among the deer, if one might judge from thenoise. Then he found some new smell of excitement, and voiced the newthrill in a new sound, one not unmixed with fear. At length his barkingwas far away to the west in a rocky part of the woods. Whatever theprey, it was treed, for the voice kept one place. 

The hunters followed quickly and found the dog yapping furiously undera thick cedar. The first thought was of porcupine; but a nearer viewshowed the game to be a huge panther on the ground, not greatly excited, disdaining to climb, and taking little notice of the dog, except tocurl his nose and utter a hissing kind of snarl when the latter came toonear. 

But the arrival of the hunters gave a new colour to the picture. Thepanther raised his head, then sprang up a large tree and ensconcedhimself on a fork, while the valorous Skookum reared against the trunk, threatening loudly to come up and tear him to pieces. 

This was a rare find and a noble chance to conserve their stock of deer, so the hunters went around the tree seeking for a fair shot. Butevery point of view had some serious obstacle. It seemed as though thebranches had been told off to guard the panther's vitals, for a big onealways stood in the bullet's way. 

After vainly going around, Quonab said to Rolf: "Hit him with something, so he'll move. "

Rolf always was a good shot with stones, but he found none to throw. Near where they stood, however, was an unfreezing spring, and the soggysnow on it was easily packed into a hard, heavy snowball. Rolf threw itstraight, swift, and by good luck it hit the panther square on the noseand startled him so that he sprang right out of the tree and floppedinto the snow. 

Skookum was on him at once, but got a slap on the ear that changedhis music, and the panther bounded away out of sight with the valiantSkookum ten feet behind, whooping and yelling like mad. 

It was annoyance rather than fear that made that panther take to a lowtree while Skookum boxed the compass, and made a beaten dog path allaround him. The hunters approached very carefully now, making littlesound and keeping out of sight. The panther was wholly engrossed withobserving the astonishing impudence of that dog, when Quonab camequietly up, leaned his rifle against a tree and fired. The smoke clearedto show the panther on his back, his legs convulsively waving in theair, and Skookum tugging valiantly at his tail. 

"My panther, " he seemed to say; "whatever would you do without me?"

A panther in a deer yard is much like a wolf shut up in a sheepfold. Hewould probably have killed all the deer that winter, though there wereten times as many as he needed for food; and getting rid of him was apiece of good luck for hunters and deer, while his superb hide made anoble trophy that in years to come had unexpected places of honour. 

Chapter 43. Sunday in the Woods

Rolf still kept to the tradition of Sunday, and Quonab had in a manneraccepted it. It was a curious fact that the red man had far moretoleration for the white man's religious ideas than the white man hadfor the red's. 

Quonab's songs to the sun and the spirit, or his burning of a tobaccopinch, or an animal's whiskers were to Rolf but harmless nonsense. Hadhe given them other names, calling them hymns and incense, he wouldhave been much nearer respecting them. He had forgotten his mother'steaching: "If any man do anything sincerely, believing that thereby heis worshipping God, he is worshipping God. " He disliked seeing Quonabuse an axe or a gun on Sunday, and the Indian, realizing that suchaction made "evil medicine" for Rolf, practically abstained. But Rolfhad not yet learned to respect the red yarns the Indian hung from adeer's skull, though he did come to understand that he must let themalone or produce bad feeling in camp. 

Sunday had become a day of rest and Quonab made it also a day of songand remembrance. 

They were sitting one Sunday night by the fire in the cabin, enjoyingthe blaze, while a storm rattled on the window and door. A white-footedmouse, one of a family that lived in the shanty, was trying how close hecould come to Skookum's nose without being caught, while Rolf lookedon. Quonab was lying back on a pile of deer skins, with his pipe in hismouth, his head on the bunk, and his hands clasped back of his neck. 

There was an atmosphere of content and brotherly feeling; the eveningwas young, when Rolf broke silence:

"Were you ever married, Quonab?"

"Ugh, " was the Indian's affirmative. 

"Where?"

"Myanos. "

Rolf did not venture more questions, but left the influence of the hourto work. It was a moment of delicate poise, and Rolf knew a touch wouldopen the door or double bar it. He wondered how he might give that touchas he wished it. Skookum still slept. Both men watched the mouse, as, with quick movements it crept about. Presently it approached a longbirch stick that stood up against the wall. High hanging was thesong-drum. Rolf wished Quonab would take it and let it open his heart, but he dared not offer it; that might have the exact wrong effect. Nowthe mouse was behind the birch stick. Then Rolf noticed that the stickif it were to fall would strike a drying line, one end of which wason the song-drum peg. So he made a dash at the mouse and displaced thestick; the jerk it gave the line sent the song-drum with hollow bumpingto the ground. The boy stooped to replace it; as he did, Quonab gruntedand Rolf turned to see his hand stretched for the drum. Had Rolfofficiously offered it, it would have been refused; now the Indian tookit, tapped and warmed it at the fire, and sang a song of the Wabanaki. It was softly done, and very low, but Rolf was close, for almost thefirst time in any long rendition, and he got an entirely new notion ofthe red music. The singer's face brightened as he tummed and sang withpeculiar grace notes and throat warbles of "Kaluscap's war with themagi, " and the spirit of his people, rising to the sweet magic ofmelody, came shining in his eyes. He sang the lovers' song, "The BarkCanoe. " (See F. R. Burton's "American Primitive Music. )

"While the stars shine and falls the dew, I seek my love in bark canoe. "

And then the cradle song, "The Naked Bear Shall Never Catch Thee. "

When he stopped, he stared at the fire; and after a long pause Rolfventured, "My mother would have loved your songs. "

Whether he heard or not, the warm emanation surely reached the Indian, and he began to answer the question of an hour before:

"Her name was Gamowini, for she sang like the sweet night bird atAsamuk. I brought her from her father's house at Saugatuck. We lived atMyanos. She made beautiful baskets and moccasins. I fished and trapped;we had enough. Then the baby came. He had big round eyes, so we calledhim Wee-wees, 'our little owl, ' and we were very happy. When Gamowinisang to her baby, the world seemed full of sun. One day when Wee-weescould walk she left him with me and she went to Stamford with somebaskets to sell. A big ship was in the harbour. A man from the ship toldher that his sailors would buy all her baskets. She had no fear. On theship they seized her for a runaway slave, and hid her till they sailedaway. 

"When she did not come back I took Wee-wees on my shoulder and wentquickly to Stamford. I soon found out a little, but the people did notknow the ship, or whence she came, or where she went, they said. Theydid not seem to care. My heart grew hotter and wilder. I wanted tofight. I would have killed the men on the dock, but they were many. Theybound me and put me in jail for three months. 'When I came out Wee-weeswas dead. They did not care. I have heard nothing since. Then I went tolive under the rock, so I should not see our first home. I do not know;she may be alive. But I think it killed her to lose her baby. "

The Indian stopped; then rose quickly. His face was hard set. He steppedout into the snowstorm and the night. Rolf was left alone with Skookum. 

Sad, sad, everything seemed sad in his friend's life, and Rolf, broodingover it with wisdom beyond his years, could not help asking: "Had Quonaband Gamowini been white folk, would it have happened so? Would his agonyhave been received with scornful indifference?" Alas! he knew it wouldnot. He realized it would have been a very different tale, and thesequent questions that would not down, were, "Will this bread caston the waters return after many days?" "Is there a God of justice andretribution?" "On whom will the flail of vengeance fall for all theseabominations?"

Two hours later the Indian returned. No word was spoken as he entered. He was not cold. He must have walked far. Rolf prepared for bed. TheIndian stooped, picked up a needle from the dusty ground, one that hadbeen lost the day before, silently handed it to his companion, who gaveonly a recognizant "Hm, " and dropped it into the birch-bark box. 

Chapter 44. The Lost Bundle of Furs

There had been a significant cessation of robbery on their trap lineafter the inconclusive visit to the enemy's camp. But a new and extremeexasperation arose in the month of March, when the alternation of thawand frost had covered the snow with a hard crust that rendered snowshoesunnecessary and made it easy to run anywhere and leave no track. 

They had gathered up a fisher and some martens before they reached thebeaver pond. They had no beaver traps now, but it was interesting tocall and see how many of the beavers were left, and what they weredoing. 

Bubbling springs on the bank of the pond had made open water at severalplaces, now that the winter frost was weakening. Out of these thebeavers often came, as was plainly seen in the tracks, so the trappersapproached them carefully. 

They were scrutinizing one of them from behind a log, Quonab with readygun, Rolf holding the unwilling Skookum, when the familiar broad, flathead appeared. A large beaver swam around the hole, sniffed and looked, then silently climbed the bank, evidently making for a certain aspentree that he had already been cutting. He was in easy range, and thegunner was about to fire when Rolf pressed his arm and pointed. Here, wandering through the wood, came a large lynx. It had not seen or smeltany of the living creatures ahead, as yet, but speedily sighted thebeaver now working away to cut down his tree. 

As a pelt, the beaver was worth more than the lynx, but the naturalistis strong in most hunters, and they watched to see what would happen. 

The lynx seemed to sink into the ground, and was lost to sight as soonas he knew of a possible prey ahead. And now he began his stalk. Thehunters sighted him once as he crossed a level opening in the snow. Heseemed less than four inches high as he crawled. Logs, ridges, trees, or twigs, afforded ample concealment, till his whiskers appeared in athicket within fifteen feet of the beaver. 

All this was painfully exciting to Skookum, who, though he could notsee, could get some thrilling whiffs, and he strained forward to improvehis opportunities. The sound of this slight struggle caught the beaver'sear. It stopped work, wheeled, and made for the water hole. The lynxsprang from his ambush, seized the beaver by the back, and held on;but the beaver was double the lynx's weight, the bank was steep andslippery, the struggling animals kept rolling down hill, nearer andnearer the hole. Then, on the very edge, the beaver gave a great plunge, and splashed into the water with the lynx clinging to its back. At oncethey disappeared, and the hunters rushed to the place, expecting them tofloat up and be an easy prey; but they did not float. At length it wasclear that the pair had gone under the ice, for in water the beaver wasmaster. 

After five minutes it was certain that the lynx must be dead. Quonab cuta sapling and made a grappler. He poked this way and that way under theice, until at length he felt something soft. With the hatchet they cuta hole over the place and then dragged out the body of the lynx. Thebeaver, of course, escaped and was probably little the worse. 

While Quonab skinned the catch, Rolf prowled around the pond and sooncame running back to tell of a remarkable happening. 

At another open hole a beaver had come out, wandered twenty yards to amound which he had castorized, then passed several hard wood trees tofind a large poplar or aspen, the favourite food tree. This he had begunto fell with considerable skill, but for some strange reason, perhapsbecause alone, he had made a miscalculation, and when the tree camecrashing down, it had fallen across his back, killed him, and pinned himto the ground. 

It was an easy matter for the hunters to remove the log and secure hispelt, so they left the beaver pond, richer than they had expected. 

Next night, when they reached their half-way shanty, they had the besthaul they had taken on this line since the memorable day when they gotsix beavers. 

The morning dawned clear and bright. As they breakfasted, they noticedan extraordinary gathering of ravens far away to the north, beyond anycountry they had visited. At least twenty or thirty of the birds weresailing in great circles high above a certain place, uttering a deep, sonorous croak, from time to time. Occasionally one of the ravens woulddive down out of sight. 

"Why do they fly above that way?"

"That is to let other ravens know there is food here. Their eyes arevery good. They can see the signal ten miles away, so all come to theplace. My father told me that you can gather all the ravens for twentymiles by leaving a carcass so they can see it and signal each other. "

"Seems as if we should look into that. Maybe another panther, " wasRolf's remark. 

The Indian nodded; so leaving the bundle of furs in a safe place withthe snowshoes, that they carried on a chance, they set out over thehard crust. It was two or three miles to the ravens' gathering, and, asbefore, it proved to be over a cedar brake where was a deer yard. 

Skookum knew all about it. He rushed into the woods, filled with thejoy of martial glory. But speedily came running out again as hard ashe could, yelling "yow, yow, yowl" for help, while swiftly following, behind him were a couple of gray wolves. Quonab waited till they werewithin forty yards; then, seeing the men, the wolves slowed up andveered; Quonab fired; one of the wolves gave a little, doglike yelp. Then they leaped into the bushes and were lost to view. 

A careful study of the snow showed one or two trifling traces of blood. In the deer yard they found at least a dozen carcasses of deer killed bythe wolves, but none very recent. They saw but few deer and nothing moreof the wolves, for the crust had made all the country easy, and bothkinds fled before the hunters. 

Exploring a lower level of willow country in hopes of finding beaverdelayed them, and it was afternoon when they returned to the half-wayshanty, to find everything as they left it, except that their Pack offurs had totally disappeared. 

Of course, the hard crust gave no sign of track. Their first thoughtwas of the old enemy, but, seeking far and near for evidence, they foundpieces of an ermine skin, and a quarter mile farther, the rest of it, then, at another place, fragments of a muskrat's skin. Those made itlook like the work of the trapper's enemy, the wolverine, which, thoughrare, was surely found in these hills. Yes! there was a wolverinescratch mark, and here another piece of the rat skin. It was very clearwho was the thief. 

"He tore up the cheapest ones of the lot anyway, " said Rolf. 

Then the trappers stared at each other significantly--only the cheapones destroyed; why should a wolverine show such discrimination? Therewas no positive sign of wolverine; in fact, the icy snow gave no sign ofanything. There was little doubt that the tom furs and the scratch markswere there to mislead; that this was the work of a human robber, almostcertainly Hoag. 

He had doubtless seen them leave in the morning, and it was equallysure, since he had had hours of start, he would now be far away. 

"Ugh! Give him few days to think he safe, then I follow and settle all, "and this time the Indian clearly meant to end the matter. 

Chapter 45. The Subjugation of Hoag

 A feller as weeps for pity and never does a finger-tap to help is 'bout as much use as an overcoat on a drowning man. --Sayings of Si Sylvanne. 

SOME remarkable changes of weather made some remarkable changes in theirplan and saved their enemy from immediate molestation. For two weeks itwas a succession of thaws and there was much rain. The lake was coveredwith six inches of water; the river had a current above the ice, thatwas rapidly eating, the latter away. Everywhere there were slush and wetsnow that put an end to travel and brought on the spring with a rush. 

Each night there was, indeed, a trifling frost, but each day's sunseemed stronger, and broad, bare patches of ground appeared on all sunnyslopes. 

On the first crisp day the trappers set out to go the rounds, knowingfull well that this was the end of the season. Henceforth for six monthsdeadfall and snare would lie idle and unset. 

They went their accustomed line, carrying their snowshoes, but rarelyneeding them. Then they crossed a large track to which Quonab pointed, and grunted affirmatively as Rolf said "Bear?" Yes! the bears were aboutonce more; their winter sleep was over. Now they were fat and the furwas yet prime; in a month they would be thin and shedding. Now is thetime for bear hunting with either trap or dog. 

Doubtless Skookum thought the party most fortunately equipped in thelatter respect, but no single dog is enough to bay a bear. There mustbe three or four to bother him behind, to make him face about and fight;one dog merely makes him run faster. 

They had no traps, and knowing that a spring bear is a far traveller, they made no attempt to follow. 

The deadfalls yielded two martens, but one of them was spoiled by thewarm weather. They learned at last that the enemy had a trap-line, forpart of which he used their deadfalls. He had been the rounds lately andhad profited at least a little by their labours. 

The track, though two days old, was not hard to follow, either on snowor ground. Quonab looked to the lock of his gun; his lower lip tightenedand he strode along. 

"What are you going to do, Quonab? Not shoot?"

"When I get near enough, " and the dangerous look in the red man's eyetold Rolf to be quiet and follow. 

In three miles they passed but three of his marten traps--very lazytrapping--and then found a great triangle of logs by a tree with a baitand signs enough to tell the experienced eye that, in that corner, washidden a huge steel trap for bear. 

They were almost too late in restraining the knowledge-hunger ofSkookum. They went on a mile or two and realized in so doing that, however poor a trapper the enemy might be, he was a good tramper andknew the country. 

At sundown they came to their half-way shelter and put up there for thenight. Once when Rolf went out to glimpse the skies before turning in, he heard a far tree creaking and wondered, for it was dead calm. EvenSkookum noticed it. But it was not repeated. Next morning they went on. 

There are many quaint sounds in the woods at all times, the raspingof trees, at least a dozen different calls by jays, twice as many byravens, and occasional notes from chicadees, grouse, and owls. Thequadrupeds in general are more silent, but the red squirrel is everabout and noisy, as well as busy. 

Far-reaching sounds are these echoes of the woods--some of them veryfar. Probably there were not five minutes of the day or night when someweird, woodland chatter, scrape, crack, screech, or whistle did notreach the keen ears of that ever-alert dog. That is, three hundred timesa day his outer ear submitted to his inner ear some report of thingsa-doing, which same report was as often for many days disregarded as ofno interest or value. But this did not mean that he missed anything; thesteady tramp, tramp of their feet, while it dulled all sounds for thehunter, seemed to have no effect on Skookum. Again the raspy squeal ofsome far tree reached his inmost brain, and his hair rose as he stoppedand gave a low "woof. "

The hunters held still; the wise ones always do, when a dog says "Stop!"They waited. After a few minutes it came again--merely the long-drawncreak of a tree bough, wind-rubbed on its neighbour. 

And yet, "Woof, woof, woof, " said Skookum, and ran ahead. 

"Come back, you little fool!" cried Rolf. 

But Skookum had a mind of his own. He trotted ahead, then stopped, paused, and sniffed at something in the snow. The Indian picked it up. It was the pocket jackscrew that every bear trapper carries to set thepowerful trap, and without which, indeed, one man cannot manage thesprings. 

He held it up with "Ugh! Hoag in trouble now. " Clearly the rival trapperhad lost this necessary tool. 

But the finding was an accident. Skookum pushed on. They came along adraw to a little hollow. The dog, far forward, began barking and angrilybaying at something. The men hurried to the scene to find on the snow, fast held in one of those devilish engines called a bear trap--the bodyof their enemy--Hoag, the trapper, held by a leg, and a hand in the ginhe himself had been setting. 

A fierce light played on the Indian's face. Rolf was stricken withhorror. But even while they contemplated the body, the faint cry washeard again coming from it. 

"He's alive; hurry!" cried Rolf. The Indian did not hurry, but he came. He had vowed vengeance at sight; why should he haste to help?

The implacable iron jaws had clutched the trapper by one knee and theright hand. The first thing was to free him. How? No man has powerenough to force that spring. But the jackscrew!

"Quonab, help him! For God's sake, come!" cried Rolf in agony, forgetting their feud and seeing only tortured, dying man. 

The Indian gazed a moment, then rose quickly, and put on the jackscrew. Under his deft fingers the first spring went down, but what about theother? They had no other screw. The long buckskin line they alwayscarried was quickly lashed round and round the down spring to hold it. Then the screw was removed and put on the other spring; it bent, and thejaws hung loose. The Indian forced them wide open, drew out the mangledlimbs, a the trapper was free, but so near death, it seemed they weretoo late. 

Rolf spread his coat. The Indian made a fire. In fifteen minutes theywere pouring hot tea between victim's lips. Even as they did, his feeblethroat gave out again the long, low moan. 

The weather was mild now. The prisoner was not actually frozen, butnumbed and racked. Heat, hot tea, kindly rubbing, and he revived alittle. 

At first they thought him dying, but in an hour recovered enough totalk. In feeble accents and broken phrases they learned the tale:

"Yest--m-m-m. Yesterday--no; two or three days back--m-m-m-m-m--I dunno;I was a goin'--roun' me traps--me bear traps. Didn't have no luck m-m-m(yes, I'd like another sip; ye ain't got no whiskey no?) m-m-m. Nothingin any trap, and when I come to this un--oh-h--m-m; I seen--the baitwas stole by birds, an' the pan--m-m-m; an' the pan, m-m-m--(yes, that'sbetter)--an' the pan laid bare. So I starts to cover it with--ce-ce-dar;the ony thing I c'd get--m-m-m-w---wuz leanin' over--to fix totherside--me foot slipped on--the--ice--ev'rything was icy--an'--m-m-m-m--Ilost--me balance--me knee the pan--O Lord--how I suffer!--m-m-m itgrabbed me--knee an'--h-h-hand--" His voice died to a whisper andceased; he seemed sinking. 

Quonab got up to hold him. Then, looking at Rolf, Indian shook hishead as though to say all was over; the poor wretch had a woodman'sconstitution, and in spite of a mangled, dying body, he revived again. They gave him more hot tea, and again he began in a whisper:

"I hed one arm free an'--an'--an'--I might--a--got out--m-m--but I hedno wrench--I lost it some place--m-m-m-m. 

"Then--I yelled--I dun--no--maybe some un might hear--it kin-kin-kindereased me--to yell m-m-m. 

"Say--make that yer dog keep--away--will yer I dunno--it seems like aweek--must a fainted some M-m-m--I yelled--when I could. "

There was a long pause. Rolf said, "Seems to me I heard you last night, when we were up there. And dog heard you, too. Do you want me to movethat leg around?"

"M-m-m--yeh--that's better--say, you air white--ain't ye? Ye won't leaveme--cos--I done some mean things--m-m-m. Ye won't, will ye?"

"No, you needn't worry--we'll stay by ye. "

Then he muttered, they could not tell what. He closed his eyes. Afterlong silence he looked around wildly and began again:

"Say--I done you dirt--but don't leave me--don't leave me. " Tears randown his face and he moaned piteously. "I'll--make it--right--you'rewhite, ain't ye?"

Quonab rose and went for more firewood. The trapper whispered, "I'mscared o' him--now--he'll do me--say, I'm jest a poor ole man. If I dolive--through--this--m-m-m-m--I'll never walk again. I'm crippled sure. "

It was long before he resumed. Then he began: "Say, what day isit--Friday!--I must--been two days in there--m-m-m--I reckoned it was aweek. When--the--dog came I thought it was wolves. Oh--ah, didn't caremuch--m-m-m. Say, ye won't leave me--coz--coz--I treated--ye mean. I--ain't had no l-l-luck. " He went off into a stupor, but presently letout a long, startling cry, the same as that they had heard in the night. The dog growled; the men stared. The wretch's eyes were rolling again. He seemed delirious. 

Quonab pointed to the east, made the sun-up sign, and shook his head atthe victim. And Rolf understood it to mean that he would never see thesunrise. But they were wrong. 

The long night passed in a struggle between heath and the tough make-upof a mountaineer. The waiting light of dawn saw death defeated, retiring from the scene. As the sun rose high, the victim seemed to gainconsiderably in strength. There was no immediate danger of an end. 

Rolf said to Quonab: "Where shall we take him? Guess you better go homefor the toboggan, and we'll fetch him to the shanty. "

But the invalid was able to take part in the conversation. "Say, don'ttake me there. Ah--want to go home. 'Pears like--I'd be better at home. My folks is out Moose River way. I'd never get out if I went inthere, " and by "there" he seemed to mean the Indian's lake, and glancedfurtively at the unchanging countenance of the red man. 

"Have you a toboggan at your shanty?" asked Rolf. 

"Yes--good enough--it's on the roof--say, " and he beckoned feebly toRolf, "let him go after it--don't leave me--he'll kill me, " and he weptfeebly in his self pity. 

So Quonab started down the mountain--a sinewy man--a striding form, aspeck in the melting distance. 

Chapter 46. Nursing Hoag

In two hours the red man reached the trapper's shanty, and at once, without hesitation or delicacy, set about a thorough examination of itscontents. Of course there was the toboggan on the roof, and in fairlygood condition for such a shiftless owner. 

There were bunches of furs hanging from the rafters, but not many, forfur taking is hard work; and Quonab, looking suspiciously over them, was 'not surprised to see the lynx skin he had lost, easily known by theabsence of wound and the fur still in points as it had dried from thewetting. In another bundle, he discovered the beaver that had killeditself, for there was the dark band across its back. 

The martens he could not be sure of, but he had a strong suspicion thatmost of this fur came out of his own traps. 

He tied Hoag's blankets on the toboggan, and hastened back to where heleft the two on the mountain. 

Skookum met him long before he was near. Skookum did not enjoy Hoag'scompany. 

The cripple had been talking freely to Rolf, but the arrival of theIndian seemed to suppress him. 

With the wounded man on the toboggan, they set out, The ground was barein many places, so that the going was hard; but, fortunately, it was alldown hill, and four hours' toil brought them to the cabin. 

They put the sick man in his bunk, then Rolf set about preparing a meal, while Quonab cut wood. 

After the usual tea, bacon, and flour cakes, all were feeling refreshed. Hoag seemed much more like himself. He talked freely, almost cheerfully, while Quonab, with Skookum at his feet, sat silently smoking and staringinto the fire. 

After a long silence, the Indian turned, looked straight at the trapper, and, pointing with his pipestem to the furs, said, "How many is ours?"

Hoag looked scared, then sulky, and said; "I dunno what ye mean. I'm aawful sick man. You get me out to Lyons Falls all right, and ye can havethe hull lot, " and he wept. 

Rolf shook his head at Quonab, then turned to the sufferer and said:"Don't you worry; we'll get you out all right. Have you a good canoe?"

"Pretty fair; needs a little fixing. "

The night passed with one or two breaks, when the invalid asked for adrink of water. In the morning he was evidently recovering, and theybegan to plan for the future. 

He took the first chance of wispering to Rolf, "Can't you send him away?I'll be all right with you. " Rolf said nothing. 

"Say, " he continued, "say, young feller, what's yer name?"

"Rolf Kittering. "

"Say, Rolf, you wait a week or ten days, and the ice 'll be out; thenI'll be fit to travel. There ain't on'y a few carries between here an'Lyons Falls. "

After a long pause, due to Quonab's entry, he continued again: "MooseRiver's good canoeing; ye can get me out in five days; me folks is atLyons Falls. " He did not say that his folks consisted of a wife and boythat he neglected, but whom he counted on to nurse him now. 

Rolf was puzzled by the situation. 

"Say! I'll give ye all them furs if ye git me out. " Rolf gave him acurious look--as much as to say, "Ye mean our furs. "

Again the conversation was ended by the entry of Quonab. 

Rolf stepped out, taking the Indian with him. They had a long talk, then, as Rolf reentered, the sick man began:

"You stay by me, and git me out. I'll give ye my rifle"--then, after ashort silence--"an' I'll throw in all the traps an' the canoe. "

"I'll stay by you, " said Rolf, "and in about two weeks we'll take youdown to Lyons Falls. I guess you can guide us. "

"Ye can have all them pelts, " and again the trapper presented the spoilshe had stolen, "an' you bet it's your rifle when ye get me out. "

So it was arranged. But it was necessary for Quonab to go back to theirown cabin. Now what should he do? Carry the new lot of fur there, orbring the old lot here to dispose of all at Lyons Falls?

Rolf had been thinking hard. He had seen the evil side of many men, including Hoag. To go among Hoag's people with a lot of stuff that Hoagmight claim was running risks, so he said:

"Quonab, you come back in not more than ten days. We'll take a few fursto Lyons Falls so we can get supplies. Leave the rest of them in goodshape, so we can go out later to Warren's. We'll get a square dealthere, and we don't know what at Lyon's. "

So they picked out the lynx, the beaver, and a dozen martens to leave, and making the rest into a pack, Quonab shouldered them, and followed bySkookum, trudged up the mountain and was lost to view in the woods. 

The ten days went by very slowly. Hoag was alternately querulous, weeping, complaining, unpleasantly fawning, or trying to insure goodattention by presenting again and again the furs, the gun, and thecanoe. 

Rolf found it pleasant to get away from the cabin when the weather wasfine. One day, taking Hoag's gun, he travelled up the nearest stream fora mile, and came on a big beaver pond. Round this he scouted and soondiscovered a drowned beaver, held in a trap which he recognized at once, for it had the (" ' "') mark on the frame. Then he found an empty trapwith a beaver leg in it, and another, till six traps were found. Thenhe gathered up the six and the beaver, and returned to the cabin to begreeted with a string of complaints:

"Ye didn't ought to leave me like this. I'm paying ye well enough. Idon't ax no favours, " etc. 

"See what I got, " and Rolf showed the beaver. "An' see what I found;"then he showed the traps. "Queer, ain't it, " he went on, "we had sixtraps just like them, and I marked the face just like these, and theyall disappeared, and there was a snowshoe trail pointing this way. Youhaven't got any crooked neighbours about here, have you?"

The trapper looked sulky and puzzled, and grumbled, "I bet it was BillHawkins done it"; then relapsed into silence. 

Chapter 47. Hoag's Home-coming

 When it comes to personal feelin's better let yer friends do the talkin' and jedgin'. A man can't handle his own case any more than a delirious doctor kin give hisself the right physic--Sayings of Si Sylvanne. 

The coming of springtime in the woods is one of the gentlest, sweetestadvents in the world. Sometimes there are heavy rains which fill all thelittle rivers with an overflood that quickly eats away the ice and snow, but usually the woodland streams open, slowly and gradually. Very rarelyis there a spate, an upheaval, and a cataclysmal sweep that bursts theice and ends its reign in an hour or two. That is the way of the largerivers, whose ice is free and floating. The snow in the forest meltsslowly, and when the ice is attacked, it goes gradually, gently, withoutuproar. The spring comes in the woods with swelling of buds and alengthening of drooping catkins, with honking of wild geese, and cawingof crows coming up from the lower countries to divide with their largercousins, the ravens, the spoils of winter's killing. 

The small birds from the South appear with a few short notes of spring, and the pert chicadees that have braved it all winter, now lead thesinging with their cheery "I told you so" notes, till robins andblackbirds join in, and with their more ambitious singing make all thelesser roundelays forgot. 

Once the winter had taken a backward step--spring found it easy to turnretreat into panic and rout; and the ten days Quonab stayed away weredays of revolutionary change. For in them semi-winter gave place tosmiling spring, with all the snow-drifts gone, except perhaps in theshadiest hollows of the woods. 

It was a bright morning, and a happy one for Rolf, when he heard theIndian's short "Ho, " outside, and a minute later had Skookum dancing andleaping about him. On Hoag the effect was quite different. He was wellenough to be up, to hobble about painfully on a stick; to be exceedinglyfault-finding, and to eat three hearty meals a day; but the moment theIndian appeared, he withdrew into himself, and became silent and uneasy. Before an hour passed, he again presented the furs, the gun, the canoe, and the traps to Rolf, on condition that he should get him out to hisfolks. 

All three were glad to set out that very day on the outward trip toLyons Falls. 

Down Little Moose River to Little Moose Lake and on to South Branch ofMoose, then by the Main Moose, was their way. The streams were flush;there was plenty of water, and this fortunately reduced the number ofcarries; for Hoag could not walk and would not hobble. They sweat andlaboured to carry him over every portage; but they covered the fiftymiles in three days, and on the evening of the third, arrived at thelittle backwoods village of Lyons Falls. 

The change that took place in Hoag now was marked and unpleasant. Hegave a number of orders, where, the day before, he would have madewhining petitions. He told them to "land easy, and don't bump my canoe. "He hailed the loungers about the mill with an effusiveness that they didnot respond to. Their cool, "Hello, Jack, are you back?" was little buta passing recognition. One of them was persuaded to take Rolf's place incarrying Hoag to his cabin. Yes, his folks were there, but they did notseem overjoyed at his arrival. He whispered to the boy, who sullenlywent out to the river and returned with the rifle, Rolf's rifle now, thelatter supposed, and would have taken the bundle of furs had not Skookumsprung on the robber and driven him away from the canoe. 

And now Hoag showed his true character. "Them's my furs and my canoe, "he said to one of the mill hands, and turning to the two who had savedhim, he said: "An' you two dirty, cutthroat, redskin thieves, you canget out of town as fast as ye know how, or I'll have ye jugged, " and allthe pent-up hate of his hateful nature frothed out in words insultingand unprintable. 

"Talks like a white man, " said Quonab coldly. Rolf was speechless. To toil so devotedly, and to have such filthy, humiliating words forthanks! He wondered if even his Uncle Mike would have shown so vile aspirit. 

Hoag gave free rein to his tongue, and found in his pal, Bill Hawkins, one with ready ears to hear his tale of woe. The wretch began to feelhimself frightfully ill-used. So, fired at last by the evermore luridstory of his wrongs, the "partner" brought the magistrate, so they couldswear out a warrant, arrest the two "outlaws, " and especially secure thebundle of "Hoag's furs" in the canoe. 

Old Silas Sylvanne, the mill-owner and pioneer of the place, was alsoits magistrate. He was tall, thin, blacklooking, a sort of Abe Lincolnin type, physically, and in some sort, mentally. He heard the harrowingtale of terrible crime, robbery, and torture, inflicted on poor harmlessHoag by these two ghouls in human shape; he listened, at first shocked, but little by little amused. 

"You don't get no warrant till I hear from the other side, " he said. Roff and Quonab came at call. The old pioneer sized up the two, as theystood, then, addressing Rolf, said:

"Air you an Injun?" "No, sir. " "Air you half-breed?" "No, sir. " "Well, let's hear about this business, " and he turned his piercing eyes full onthe lad's face. 

Rolf told the simple, straight story of their acquaintance with Hoag, from the first day at Warren's to their arrival at the Falls. There isnever any doubt about the truth of a true story, if it be long enough, and this true story, presented in its nakedness to the shrewd and kindlyold hunter, trader, mill-owner and magistrate, could have only oneeffect. 

"Sonny, " he said, slowly and kindly, "I know that ye have told me thetruth. I believe every word of it. We all know that Hoag is the meanestcuss and biggest liar on the river. He's a nuisance, and always was. He only promised to give ye the canoe and the rifle, and since he don'twant to, we can't help it. About the trouble in the woods, you got twowitnesses to his one, and ye got the furs and the traps; it's just aswell ye left the other furs behind, or ye might have had to divide 'em;so keep them and call the hull thing square. We'll find ye a canoe toget out of this gay metropolis, and as to Hoag, ye needn't a-worry; histravelling days is done. "

A man with a bundle of high-class furs is a man of means in any frontiertown. The magistrate was trader, too, so they set about disposing oftheir furs and buying the supplies they needed. 

The day was nearly done before their new canoe was gummed and ready withthe new supplies. When dealing, old Sylvanne had a mild, quiet manner, and a peculiar way of making funny remarks that led some to imagine hewas "easy" in business; but it was usual to find at the end that he hadlost nothing by his manners, and rival traders shunned an encounter withLong Sylvanne of the unruffled brow. 

When business was done--keen and complete--he said: "Now, I'm a goin' togive each of ye a present, " and handed out two double-bladed jackknives, new things in those days, wonderful things, precious treasures in theireyes, sources of endless joy; and even had they known that one martenskin would buy a quart of them, their pleasant surprise and childish joywould not have been in any way tempered or alloyed. 

"Ye better eat with me, boys, an' start in the morning. " So they joinedthe miller's long, continuous family, and shared his evening meal. Afterward as they sat for three hours and smoked on the broad porch thatlooked out on the river, old Sylvanne, who had evidently taken afancy to Rolf, regaled them with a long, rambling talk on "fellers andthings, " that was one of the most interesting Rolf had ever listened to. At the time it was simply amusing; it was not till years after that thelad realized by its effect on himself, its insight, and its hold on hismemory, that Si Sylvanne's talk was real wisdom. Parts of it would notlook well in print; but the rugged words, the uncouth Saxonism, theobscene phrase, were the mere oaken bucket in which the pure andprecious waters were hauled to the surface. 

"Looked like he had ye pinched when that shyster got ye in to LyonsFalls. Wall, there's two bad places for Jack Hoag; one is where theydon't know him at all, an' take him on his looks; an' t'other is wherethey know him through and through for twenty years, like we hev. A smartrogue kin put up a false front fer a year or maybe two, but given twentyyear to try him, for and bye, summer an' winter, an' I reckon a man'smake is pretty well showed up, without no dark corners left unexplored. 

"Not that I want to jedge him harsh, coz I don't know what kind o'maggots is eatin' his innards to make him so ornery. I'm bound tosuppose he has 'em, or he wouldn't act so dum like it. So I says, goslow and gentle before puttin' a black brand on any feller; as my motherused to say, never say a bad thing till ye ask, 'Is it true, is it kind, is it necessary?' An' I tell you, the older I git, the slower I jedge;when I wuz your age, I wuz a steel trap on a hair trigger, an' cocksure. I tell you, there ain't anythin' wiser nor a sixteen-year-old boy, 'ceptmaybe a fifteen-year-old girl. 

"Ye'll genilly find, lad, jest when things looks about as black as theykin look, that's the sign of luck a-comin' your way, pervidin' ye holdsteady, keep cool and kind; something happens every time to make it alleasy. There's always a way, an' the stout heart will find it. 

"Ye may be very sure o' this, boy, yer never licked till ye think ye airan' if ye won't think it, ye can't be licked. It's just the same asbeing sick. I seen a lot o' doctorin' in my day, and I'm forced tobelieve there ain't any sick folks 'cept them that thinks they air sick. 

"The older I git, the more I'm bound to consider that most things isinside, anyhow, and what's outside don't count for much. 

"So it stands to reason when ye play the game for what's inside, ye winover all the outside players. When ye done kindness to Hoag, ye mightn'ta meant it, but ye was bracin' up the goodness in yerself, or bankin' itup somewher' on the trail ahead, where it was needed. And he wassimply chawin' his own leg off, when he done ye dirt. I ain't much o'a prattlin' Christian, but I reckon as a cold-blooded, businessproposition it pays to lend the neighbour a hand; not that I go much ongratitude. It's scarcer'n snowballs in hell--which ain't the point;but I take notice there ain't any man'll hate ye more'n the feller thatknows he's acted mean to ye. An' there ain't any feller more ready tofight yer battles than the chap that by some dum accident has hed theluck to help ye, even if he only done it to spite some one else--which'minds me o' McCarthy's bull pup that saved the drowning kittens bymistake, and ever after was a fightin' cat protector, whereby he lostthe chief joy o' his life, which had been cat-killin'. An' the way theycured the cat o' eatin' squirrels was givin' her a litter o' squirrelsto raise. 

"I tell ye there's a lot o' common-sense an' kindness in the country, only it's so dum slow to git around; while the cussedness and meannessalways acts like they felt the hell fire sizzlin' their hind-endwhiskers, an' knowed they had jest so many minutes to live an' make arecord. There's where a man's smart that fixes things so he kin hold outa long time, fer the good stuff in men's minds is what lasts; and thefeller what can stay with it hez proved hisself by stayin'. How'd yehappen to tie up with the Injun, Rolf?"

"Do ye want me to tell it long or short?" was the reply. "Wall, short, fer a start, " and Silas Sylvanne chuckled. 

So Rolf gave a very brief account of his early life. 

"Pretty good, " said the miller; "now let's hear it long. "

And when he had finished, the miller said: "I've seen yer tried fer mosteverything that goes to make a man, Rolf, an' I hev my own notion of theresults. You ain't goin' to live ferever in them hills. When ye've hedyer fling an' want a change, let me know. "

Early next day the two hunters paddled up the Moose River with a goodcanoe, an outfit of groceries, and a small supply of ready cash. 

"Good-bye, lad, good-bye! Come back again and ye'll find we improve onacquaintance; an' don't forget I'm buying fur, " was Si Sylvanne's lastword. And as they rounded the point, on the home way, Rolf turned inthe canoe, faced Quonab, and said: "Ye see there are some good white menleft;" but the Indian neither blinked, nor moved, nor made a sound. 

Chapter 48. Rolf's Lesson in Trailing

The return journey was hard paddling against strong waters, butotherwise uneventful. Once over any trail is enough to fix it in thememory of a woodman. They made no mistakes and their loads were light, so the portages were scarcely any loss of time, and in two days theywere back at Hoag's cabin. 

Of this they took possession. First, they gathered all things of value, and that was little since the furs and bedding were gone, but there werea few traps and some dishes. The stuff was made in two packs; now itwas an overland journey, so the canoe was hidden in a cedar thicket, a quarter of a mile inland. The two were about to shoulder the packs, Quonab was lighting his pipe for a start, when Rolf said:

"Say, Quonab! that fellow we saw at the Falls claimed to be Hoag'spartner. He may come on here and make trouble if we don't head him off. Let's burn her, " and he nodded toward the shanty. 

"Ugh!" was the reply. 

They gathered some dry brush and a lot of birch bark, piled them upagainst the wall inside, and threw plenty of firewood on this. Withflint and steel Quonab made the vital spark, the birch bark sputtered, the dry, resinous logs were easily set ablaze, and soon great volumesof smoke rolled from the door, the window, and the chimney; and Skookum, standing afar, barked pleasantly aloud. 

The hunters shouldered their packs and began the long, upward slope. Inan hour they had reached a high, rocky ridge. Here they stopped to rest, and, far below them, marked with grim joy a twisted, leaning column ofthick black smoke. 

That night they camped in the woods and next day rejoiced to be backagain at their own cabin, their own lake, their home. 

Several times during the march they had seen fresh deer tracks, and nowthat the need of meat was felt, Rolf proposed a deer hunt. 

Many deer die every winter; some are winter-killed; many are devouredby beasts of prey, or killed by hunters; their numbers are at low ebb inApril, so that now one could not count on finding a deer by roaming atrandom. It was a case for trailing. 

Any one can track a deer in the snow. It is not very hard to follow adeer in soft ground, when there are no other deer about. But it is veryhard to take one deer trail and follow it over rocky ground and deadleaves, never losing it or changing off, when there are hundreds of deertracks running in all directions. 

Rolf's eyes were better than Quonab's, but experience counts for as muchas eyes, and Quonab was leading. They picked out a big buck track thatwas fresh--no good hunter kills a doe at this season. They knew it for abuck, because of its size and the roundness of the toes. 

Before long, Rolf said: "See, Quonab, I want to learn this business; letme do the trailing, and you set me right if I get off the line. "

Within a hundred yards, Quonab gave a grunt and shook his head. Rolflooked surprised, for he was on a good, fresh track. 

Quonab said but one word, "Doe. "

Yes, a closer view showed the tracks to be a little narrower, a littlecloser together, and a little sharper than those he began with. 

Back went Rolf to the last marks that he was sure of, and plainly readwhere the buck had turned aside. For a time, things went along smoothly, Quonab and Skookum following Rolf. The last was getting very familiarwith that stub hoof on the left foot. At length they came to the "fumet"or "sign"; it was all in one pile. That meant the deer had stood, so wasunalarmed; and warm; that meant but a few minutes ahead. Now, they mustuse every precaution for this was the crux of the hunt. Of this muchonly they were sure--the deer was within range now, and to get him theymust see him before he saw them. 

Skookum was leashed. Rolf was allowed to get well ahead, and crawlingcautiously, a step at a time, he went, setting down his moccasined footonly after he had tried and selected a place. Once or twice he threwinto the air a tuft of dry grass to make sure that the wind was right, and by slow degrees he reached the edge of a little opening. 

Across this he peered long, without entering it. Then he made a sweepwith his hand and pointed, to let Quonab know the buck had gone acrossand he himself must go around. But he lingered still and with his eyesswept the near woods. Then, dim gray among the gray twigs, he saw aslight movement, so slight it might have been made by the tail of atomtit. But it fixed his attention, and out of this gray haze he slowlymade out the outline of a deer's head, antlers, and neck. A hundredyards away, but "take a chance when it comes" is hunter wisdom. Rolfglanced at the sight, took steady aim, fired, and down went the buckbehind a log. Skookum whined and leaped high in his eagerness to see. Rolf restrained his impatience to rush forward, at once reloaded, thenall three went quickly to the place. Before they were within fiftyyards, the deer leaped up and bounded off. At seventy-five yards, itstood for a moment to gaze. Rolf fired again; again the buck fell down, but jumped to its feet and bounded away. 

They went to the two places, but found no blood. Utterly puzzled, theygave it up for the day, as already the shades of night were on thewoods, and in spite of Skookum's voluble offer to solve and settleeverything, they returned to the cabin. 

"What do you make of it, Quonab?'

The Indian shook his head, then: "Maybe touched his head and stunnedhim, first shot; second, wah! I not know. "

"I know this, " said Rolf. "I touched him and I mean to get him in themorning. "

True to this resolve, he was there again at dawn, but examined the placein vain for a sign of blood. The red rarely shows up much on leaves, grass, or dust; but there are two kinds of places that the hunter canrely on as telltales--stones and logs. Rolf followed the deer track, nowvery dim, till at a bare place he found a speck of blood on a pebble. Here the trail joined onto a deer path, with so many tracks that it washard to say which was the right one. But Rolf passed quickly along to alog that crossed the runway, and on that log he found a drop of dried-upblood that told him what he wished to know. 

Now he had a straight run of a quarter of a mile, and from time to timehe saw a peculiar scratching mark that puzzled him. Once he found aspeck of blood at one of these scratches but no other evidence that thebuck was touched. 

A wounded deer is pretty sure to work down hill, and Quonab, leavingSkookum with Rolf, climbed a lookout that might show whither the deerwas heading. 

After another half mile, the deer path forked; there were buck trails onboth, and Rolf could not pick out the one he wanted. He went a few yardsalong each, studying the many marks, but was unable to tell which wasthat of the wounded buck. 

Now Skookum took a share in it. He had always been forbidden to rundeer and knew it was a contraband amusement, but he put his nose to thatbranch of the trail that ran down hill, followed it for a few yards, then looked at Rolf, as much as to say: "You poor nose-blind creature;don't you know a fresh deer track when you smell it? Here it is; this iswhere he went. "

Rolf stared, then said, "I believe he means it"; and followed the lowertrail. Very soon he came to another scrape, and, just beyond it, foundthe new, velvet-covered antler of a buck, raw and bloody, and splinteredat the base. 

From this on, the task was easier, as there were no other tracks, andthis was pointing steadily down hill. 

Soon Quonab came striding along. He had not seen the buck, but a coupleof jays and a raven were gathered in a thicket far down by the stream. The hunters quit the trail and made for that place. As they drew near, they found the track again, and again saw those curious scrapes. 

Every hunter knows that the bluejay dashing about a thicket means thathidden there is game of some kind, probably deer. Very, very slowly andsilently they entered that copse. But nothing appeared until there was arush in the thickest part and up leaped the buck. This was too much forSkookum. He shot forward like a wolf, fastened on one hind leg, and thebuck went crashing head over heels. Before it could rise, another shotended its troubles. And now a careful study shed the light desired. Rolf's first shot had hit the antler near the base, breaking it, exceptfor the skin on one side, and had stunned the buck. The second shot hadbroken a hind leg. The scratching places he had made were efforts toregain the use of this limb, and at one of them the deer had fallen andparted the rag of skin by which the antler hung. 

It was Rolf's first important trailing on the ground; it showed howpossible it was, and how quickly he was learning the hardest of all thefeats of woodcraft. 

Chapter 49. Rolf Gets Lost

Every one who lives in the big woods gets lost at some time. Yes, evenDaniel Boone did sometimes go astray. And whether it is to end as a jokeor a horrible tragedy depends entirely on the way in which the persontakes it. This is, indeed, the grand test of a hunter and scout, thetrial of his knowledge, his muscle, and, above everything, his courage;and, like all supreme trials, it comes without warning. 

The wonderful flocks of wild pigeons had arrived. For a few days in Maythey were there in millions, swarming over the ground in long-reachinghordes, walking along, pecking and feeding, the rearmost flying onahead, ever to the front. The food they sought so eagerly now waschiefly the seeds of the slippery elm, tiny nuts showered down on wingslike broad-brimmed hats. And when the flock arose at some alarm, thesound was like that of the sea beach in a storm. 

There seemed to be most pigeons in the low country southeast of thelake, of course, because, being low, it had most elms. So Rolf tookhis bow and arrows, crossed in the canoe, and confidently set aboutgathering in a dozen or two for broilers. 

It is amazing how well the game seems to gauge the range of your weaponand keep the exact safe distance. It is marvellous how many times youmay shoot an arrow into a flock of pigeons and never kill one. Rolf wenton and on, always in sight of the long, straggling flocks on the groundor in the air, but rarely within range of them. Again and again he fireda random shot into the distant mass, without success for two hours. Finally a pigeon was touched and dropped, but it rose as he ran forward, and flew ten yards, to drop once more. Again he rushed at it, but itfluttered out of reach and so led him on and on for about half an hour'sbreathless race, until at last he stopped, took deliberate aim, andkilled it with an arrow. 

Now a peculiar wailing and squealing from the woods far ahead attractedhim. He stalked and crawled for many minutes before he found out, as heshould have known, that it was caused by a mischievous bluejay. 

At length he came to a spring in a low hollow, and leaving his bow andarrows on a dry log, he went down to get a drink. 

As he arose, he found himself face to face with a doe and a fat, little yearling buck, only twenty yards away. They stared at him, quiteunalarmed, and, determining to add the yearling to his bag, Rolf wentback quietly to his bow and arrows. 

The deer were just out of range now, but inclined to take a curiousinterest in the hunter. Once when he stood still for a long time, they walked forward two or three steps; but whenever he advanced, theytrotted farther away. 

To kill a deer with an arrow is quite a feat of woodcraft, and Rolf waskeen to show his prowess; so he kept on with varying devices, and wascontinually within sight of the success that did not actually arrive. 

Then the deer grew wilder and loped away, as he entered another valleythat was alive with pigeons. 

He was feeling hungry now, so he plucked the pigeon he had secured, madea fire with the flint and steel he always carried, then roasted the birdcarefully on a stick, and having eaten it, felt ready for more travel. 

The day was cloudy, so he could not see the sun; but he knew it waslate, and he made for camp. 

The country he found himself in was entirely strange to him, and thesun's whereabouts doubtful; but he knew the general line of travel andstrode along rapidly toward the place where he had left the canoe. 

After two hours' tramping, he was surprised at not seeing the lakethrough the trees, and he added to his pace. 

Three hours passed and still no sign of the water. 

He began to think he had struck too far to the north; so corrected hiscourse and strode along with occasional spells of trotting. But anotherhour wore away and no lake appeared. 

Then Rolf knew he was off his bearings. He climbed a tree and got apartial view of the country. To the right was a small hill. He made forthat. The course led him through a hollow. In this he recognized twohuge basswood trees, that gave him a reassuring sense. A little fartherhe came on a spring, strangely like the one he had left some hoursago. As he stooped to drink, he saw deer tracks, then a human track. Hestudied it. Assuredly it was his own track, though now it seemed on thesouth side instead of the north. He stared at the dead gray sky, hopingfor sign of sun, but it gave no hint. He tramped off hastily toward thehill that promised a lookout. He went faster and faster. In half an hourthe woods opened a little, then dipped. He hastened down, and at thebottom found himself standing by the same old spring, though again ithad changed its north bearing. 

He was stunned by this succession of blows. He knew now he was lost inthe woods; had been tramping in a circle. 

The spring whirled around him; it seemed now north and now south. Hisfirst impulse was to rush madly northwesterly, as he understood it. Helooked at all the trees for guidance. Most moss should be on the northside. It would be so, if all trees were perfectly straight and evenlyexposed, but alas! none are so. All lean one way or another, and bythe moss he could prove any given side to be north. He looked for thehemlock top twigs. Tradition says they always point easterly; but nowthey differed among themselves as to which was east. 

Rolf got more and more worried. He was a brave boy, but grim fear cameinto his mind as he realized that he was too far from camp to be heard;the ground was too leafy for trailing him; without help he could not getaway from that awful spring. His head began to swim, when all at once heremembered a bit of advice his guide had given him long ago: "Don't getscared when you're lost. Hunger don't kill the lost man, and it ain'tcold that does it; it's being afraid. Don't be afraid, and everythingwill come out all right. "

So, instead of running, Rolf sat down to think it over. 

"Now, " said he, "I went due southeast all day from the canoe. " Then hestopped; like a shock it came to him that he had not seen the sun allday. Had he really gone southeast? It was a devastating thought, enoughto unhinge some men; but again Rolf said to himself "Never mind, now;don't get scared, and it'll be all right. In the morning the sky will beclear. "

As he sat pondering, a red squirrel chippered and scolded from a neartree; closer and closer the impudent creature came to sputter at theintruder. 

Rolf drew his bow, and when the blunt arrow dropped to the ground, therealso dropped the red squirrel, turned into acceptable meat. Rolf putthis small game into his pocket, realizing that this was his supper. 

It would soon be dark now, so he prepared to spend the night. 

While yet he could see, he gathered a pile of dry wood into a shelteredhollow. Then he made a wind-break and a bed of balsam boughs. Flint, steel, tinder, and birch bark soon created a cheerful fire, and there isno better comforter that the lone lost man can command. 

The squirrel roasted in its hide proved a passable supper, and Rolfcurled up to sleep. The night would have been pleasant and uneventful, but that it turned chilly, and when the fire burnt low, the coldawakened him, so he had a succession of naps and fire-buildings. 

Soon after dawn, he heard a tremendous roaring, and in a few minutes thewood was filled again with pigeons. 

Rolf was living on the country now, so he sallied forth with his bow. Luck was with him; at the first shot he downed a big, fat cock. At thesecond he winged another, and as it scrambled through the brush, herushed headlong in pursuit. It fluttered away beyond reach, half-flying, half-running, and Rolf, in reckless pursuit, went sliding and tumblingdown a bank to land at the bottom with a horrid jar. One leg was twistedunder him; he thought it was broken, for there was a fearful pain inthe lower part. But when he pulled himself together he found no brokenbones, indeed, but an ankle badly sprained. Now his situation was trulygrave, for he was crippled and incapable of travelling. 

He had secured the second bird, and crawling painfully and slowly backto the fire, he could not but feel more and more despondent and gloomyas the measure of his misfortune was realized. 

"There is only one thing that can shame a man, that is to be afraid. "And again, "There's always a way out. " These were the sayings that cameringing through his head to his heart; one was from Quonab, the otherfrom old Sylvanne. Yes, there's always a way, and the stout heart canalways find it. 

Rolf prepared and cooked the two birds, made a breakfast of one and putthe other in his pocket for lunch, not realizing at the time that hislunch would be eaten on this same spot. More than once, as he sat, smallflocks of ducks flew over the trees due northward. At length the sky, now clear, was ablaze with the rising sun, and when it came, it was inRolf's western sky. 

Now he comprehended the duck flight. They were really heading southeastfor their feeding grounds on the Indian Lake, and Rolf, had he been ableto tramp, could have followed, but his foot was growing worse. It wasbadly swollen, and not likely to be of service for many a day--perhapsweeks--and it took all of his fortitude not to lie down and weep overthis last misfortune. 

Again came the figure of that grim, kindly, strong old pioneer, with thegray-blue eyes and his voice was saying: "Jest when things looks aboutas black as they can look, if ye hold steady, keep cool and kind, something sure happens to make it all easy. There's always a way and thestout heart will find it. "

What way was there for him? He would die of hunger and cold beforeQuonab could find him, and again came the spectre of fear. If only hecould devise some way of letting his comrade know. He shouted once ortwice, in the faint hope that the still air might carry the sound, butthe silent wood was silent when he ceased. 

Then one of his talks with Quonab came to mind. He remembered how theIndian, as a little papoose, had been lost for three days. Though, thenbut ten years old, he had built a smoke fire that brought him help. Yes, that was the Indian way; two smokes means "I am lost"; "double fortrouble. "

Fired by this new hope, Rolf crawled a little apart from his campand built a bright fire, then smothered it with rotten wood and greenleaves. The column of smoke it sent up was densely white and toweredabove the trees. 

Then painfully he hobbled and crawled to a place one hundred yards away, and made another smoke. Now all he could do was wait. 

A fat pigeon, strayed from its dock, sat on a bough above his camp, ina way to tempt Providence. Rolf drew a blunt arrow to the head andspeedily had the pigeon in hand for some future meal. 

As he prepared it, he noticed that its crop was crammed with the wingedseed of the slippery elm, so he put them all back again into the bodywhen it was cleaned, knowing well that they are a delicious food and inthis case would furnish a welcome variant to the bird itself. 

An hour crawled by. Rolf had to go out to the far fire, for it wasnearly dead. Instinctively he sought a stout stick to help him; thenremembered how Hoag had managed with one leg and two crutches. "Ho!" heexclaimed. "That is the answer--this is the 'way. "'

Now his attention was fixed on all the possible crutches. The treesseemed full of them, but all at impossible heights. It was long beforehe found one that he could cut with his knife. Certainly he was an hourworking at it; then he heard a sound that made his blood jump. 

From far away in the north it came, faint but reaching;

"Ye-hoo-o. "

Rolf dropped his knife and listened with the instinctively open mouththat takes all pressure from the eardrums and makes them keen. It cameagain: "Ye-hoo-o. " No mistake now, and Rolf sent the ringing answerback:

"Ye-hoo-o, ye-hoo-o. "

In ten minutes there was a sharp "yap, yap, " and Skookum bounded out ofthe woods to leap and bark around Rolf, as though he knew all about it;while a few minutes later, came Quonab striding. 

"Ho, boy, " he said, with a quiet smile, and took Rolf's hand. "Ugh!That was good, " and he nodded to the smoke fire. "I knew you were introuble. "

"Yes, " and Rolf pointed to the swollen ankle. 

The Indian picked up the lad in his arms and carried him back to thelittle camp. Then, from his light pack, he took bread and tea and made ameal for both. And, as they ate, each heard the other's tale. 

"I was troubled when you did not come back last night, for you had nofood or blanket. I did not sleep. At dawn I went to the hill, whereI pray, and looked away southeast where you went in the canoe. I sawnothing. Then I went to a higher hill, where I could see the northeast, and even while I watched, I saw the two smokes, so I knew my son wasalive. "

"You mean to tell me I am northeast of camp?"

"About four miles. I did not come very quickly, because I had to go forthe canoe and travel here. 

"How do you mean by canoe?" said Rolf, in surprise. 

"You are only half a mile from Jesup River, " was the reply. "I soon bringyou home. "

It was incredible at first, but easy of proof. With the hatchet theymade a couple of serviceable crutches and set out together. 

In twenty minutes they were afloat in the canoe; in an hour theywere safely home again. 

And Rolf pondered it not a little. At the very moment of blackestdespair, the way had opened, and it had been so simple, so natural, soeffectual. Surely, as long as he lived, he would remember it. "There isalways a way, and the stout heart will find it. "

Chapter 50. Marketing the Fur

If Rolf had been at home with his mother, she would have rubbed hisblack and swollen ankle with goose grease. The medical man at Stamfordwould have rubbed it with a carefully prepared and secret ointment. HisIndian friend sang a little crooning song and rubbed it with deer's fat. All different, and all good, because each did something to reassure thepatient, to prove that big things were doing on his behalf, and eachhelped the process of nature by frequent massage. 

Three times a day, Quonab rubbed that blackened ankle. The grease savedthe skin from injury, and in a week Rolf had thrown his crutches away. 

The month of May was nearly gone; June was at hand; that is, the springwas over. 

In all ages, man has had the impulse, if not the habit, of springmigration. Yielding to it he either migrated or made some radical changein his life. Most of the Adirondack men who trapped in the winter soughtwork on the log drives in spring; some who had families and a permanenthome set about planting potatoes and plying the fish nets. Rolf andQuonab having neither way open, yet feeling the impulse, decided to goout to Warren's with the fur. 

Quonab wanted tobacco--and a change. 

Rolf wanted a rifle, and to see the Van Trumpers--and a change. 

So June 1st saw them all aboard, with Quonab steering at the stern, andSkookum bow-wowing at the bow, bound for the great centre of Warren'ssettlement--one store and three houses, very wide apart. 

There was a noble flush of water in the streams, and, thanks to theiraxe work in September, they passed down Jesup's River without a pause, and camped on the Hudson that night, fully twenty-five miles from home. 

Long, stringing flocks of pigeons going north were the most numerousforms of life. But a porcupine on the bank and a bear in the wateraroused Skookum to a pitch of frightful enthusiasm and vaulting ambitionthat he was forced to restrain. 

On the evening of the third day they landed at Warren's and found ahearty welcome from the trader, who left a group of loafers and cameforward:

"Good day to ye, boy. My, how ye have growed. "

So he had. Neither Rolf nor Quonab had remarked it, but now theywere much of the same height. "Wall, an' how'd ye make out with yerhunt?--Ah, that's fine!" as each of them dropped a fur pack on thecounter. "Wall, this is fine; we must have a drink on the head of it, "and the trader was somewhat nonplussed when both the trappers refused. He was disappointed, too, for that refusal meant that they would getmuch better prices for their fun But he concealed his chagrin andrattled on: "I reckon I'll sell you the finest rifle in the country thistime, " and he knew by Rolf's face that there was business to do in thatline. 

Now came the listing of the fur, and naturally the bargaining wasbetween the shrewd Yankee boy and the trader. The Indian stood shylyaside, but he did not fail to help with significant grunts and glances. 

"There, now, " said Warren, as the row of martens were laid out sideby side, "thirty martens--a leetle pale--worth three dollars and fiftycents each, or, to be generous, we'll say four dollars. " Rolf glancedat Quonab, who, unseen by the trader shook his head, held his right handout, open hollow up, then raised it with a jerk for two inches. 

Quickly Rolf caught the idea and said; "No, I don't reckon them pale. I call them prime dark, every one of them. " Quonab spread his hand withall five fingers pointed up, and Rolf continued, "They are worth fivedollars each, if they're worth a copper. "

"Phew!" said the trader. "you forget fur is an awful risky thing; whatwith mildew, moth, mice, and markets, we have a lot of risk. But Iwant to please you, so let her go; five each. There's a fine black fox;that's worth forty dollars. "

"I should think it is, " said Rolf, as Quonab, by throwing to his rightan imaginary pinch of sand, made the sign "refuse. "

They had talked over the value of that fox skin and Rolf said, "Why, Iknow of a black fox that sold for two hundred dollars. "

"Where?"

"Oh, down at Stamford. "

"Why, that's near New York. "

"Of course; don't you send your fur to New York?"

"Yes, but it costs a lot to get it there. 

"Now, " said Warren, "if you'll take it in trade, I'll meet you half-wayand call it one hundred dollars. "

"Make it one hundred and twenty-five dollars and I'll take a rifle, anyway. "

"Phew!" whistled the trader. "Where do ye get such notions?"

"Nothing wrong about the notion; old Si Sylvanne offered me pretty nearthat, if I'd come out his way with the stuff. "

This had the desired effect of showing that there were other traders. Atlast the deal was closed. Besides the fox skin, they had three hundreddollars' worth of fur. The exchange for the fox skin was enough to buyall the groceries and dry goods they needed. But Rolf had something elsein mind. 

He had picked out some packages of candies, some calico prints andcertain bright ribbons, when the trader grasped the idea. "I see; yergoin' visitin'. Who is it? Must be the Van Trumpers!"

Rolf nodded and now he got some very intelligent guidance. He did notbuy Annette's dress, because part of her joy was to be the expeditionin person to pick it out; but he stocked up with some gorgeous piecesof jewellery that were ten cents each, and ribbons whose colours wereas far beyond expression as were the joys they could create in thebackwoods female heart. 

Proudly clutching his new rlile, and carrying in his wallet a memorandumof three hundred dollars for their joint credit, Rolf felt himself aperson of no little importance. As he was stepping out of the store, thetrader said, "Ye didn't run across Jack Hoag agin, did ye?"

"Did we? Hmph!" and Rolf told briefly of their experience with thatcreature. 

"Just like him, just like him; served him right; he was a dirty cuss. But, say; don't you be led into taking your fur out Lyons Falls way. They're a mean lot in there, and it stands to reason I can give youbetter prices, being a hundred miles nearer New York. "

And that lesson was not forgotten. The nearer New York the better theprice; seventy-five dollars at Lyons Falls; one hundred and twenty-fivedollars at Warren's; two hundred dollars at New York. Rolf pondered longand the idea was one which grew and bore fruit. 

Chapter 51. Back at Van Trumper's

"Nibowaka"--Quonab always said "Nibowaka" when he was impressed withRolf's astuteness--"What about the canoe and stuff?"

"I think we better leave all here. Callan will lend us a canoe. " So theyshouldered the guns, Rolf clung to his, and tramped across the portage, reaching Callan's in less than two hours. 

"Why, certainly you can have the canoe, but come in and eat first, " wasthe kindly backwoods greeting. However, Rolf was keen to push on; theylaunched the canoe at once and speedily were flashing their paddles onthe lake. 

The place looked sweetly familiar as they drew near. The crops in thefields were fair; the crop of chickens at the barn was good; and thecrop of children about the door was excellent. 

"Mein Hemel! mein Hemel!" shouted fat old Hendrik, as they walked upto the stable door. In a minute he was wringing their hands and smilinginto great red, white, and blue smiles. "Coom in, coom in, lad. Hi, Marta, here be Rolf and Quonab. Mein Hemel! mein Hemel! what am I now sohappy. "

"Where's Annette?" asked Rolf. 

"Ach, poor Annette, she fever have a little; not mooch, some, " and heled over to a corner where on a low cot lay Annette, thin, pale, andlistless. 

She smiled faintly, in response, when Rolf stooped and kissed her. 

"Why, Annette, I came back to see you. I want to take you over toWarren's store, so you can pick out that dress. See, I brought you myfirst marten and I made this box for you; you must thank Skookum for thequills on it. "

"Poor chile; she bin sick all spring, " and Marta used a bunch of sedgeto drive away the flies and mosquitoes that, bass and treble, hoveredaround the child. 

"What ails her?" asked Rolf anxiously. 

"Dot ve do not know, " was the reply. 

"Maybe there's some one here can tell, " and Roll glanced at the Indian. 

"Ach, sure! Have I you that not always told all-vays--eet is so. All-vays, I want sumpin bad mooch. I prays de good Lord and all-vays, all-vays, two times now, He it send by next boat. Ach, how I am spoil, "and the good Dutchman's eyes filled with tears of thankfulness. 

Quonab knelt by the sufferer. He felt her hot, dry hand; he noticed hershort, quick breathing, her bright eyes, and the untouched bowl of mushby her bed. 

"Swamp fever, " he said. "I bring good medicine. " He passed quietly outinto the woods. When he returned, he carried a bundle of snake-rootwhich he made into tea. 

Annette did not wish to touch it, but her mother persuaded her to take afew sips from a cup held by Rolf. 

"Wah! this not good, " and Quonab glanced about the close, fly-infestedroom. "I must make lodge. " He turned up the cover of the bedding; threeor four large, fiat brown things moved slowly out of the light. "Yes, Imake lodge. "

It was night now, and all retired; the newcomers to the barn. They hadscarcely entered, when a screaming of poultry gave a familiar turnto affairs. On running to the spot, it proved not a mink or coon, butSkookum, up to his old tricks. On the appearance of his masters, he fledwith guilty haste, crouched beneath the post that he used to be, andsoon again was, chained to. 

In the morning Quonab set about his lodge, and Rolf said: "I've got togo to Warren's for sugar. " The sugar was part truth and part blind. Assoon as he heard the name swamp fever, Rolf remembered that, in Redding, Jesuit's bark (known later as quinine) was the sovereign remedy. He hadseen his mother administer it many times, and, so far as he knew, withuniform success. Every frontier (or backwoods, it's the same) tradercarries a stock of medicine, and in two hours Rolf left Warren's counterwith twenty-five pounds of maple sugar and a bottle of quinine extractin his pack. 

"You say she's bothered with the flies; why don't you take some ofthis new stuff for a curtain?" and the trader held up a web of mosquitogauze, the first Rolf had seen. That surely was a good idea, and tenyards snipped off was a most interesting addition to his pack. Theamount was charged against him, and in two hours more he was back at VanTrumper's. 

On the cool side of the house, Quonab had built a little lodge, usinga sheet for cover. On a low bed of pine boughs lay the child. Near thedoor was a smouldering fire of cedar, whose aromatic fumes on the lazywind reached every cranny of the lodge. 

Sitting by the bed head, with a chicken wing to keep off the fewmosquitoes, was the Indian. The child's eyes were closed; she wassleeping peacefully. Rolf crept gently forward, laid his hand on hers, it was cool and moist. He went into the house with his purchases; themother greeted him with a happy look: Yes, Annette was a little better;she had slept quietly ever since she was taken outdoors. The mothercould not understand. Why should the Indian want to have her surroundedby pine boughs? why cedar-smoke? and why that queer song? Yes, there itwas again. Rolf went out to see and hear. Softly summing on a tinpan, with a mudded stick, the Indian sang a song. The words which Rolflearned in the after-time were:

"Come, Kaluskap, drive the witches; Those who came to harm the dearone. "

Annette moved not, but softly breathed, as she slept a sweet, restfulslumber, the first for many days. 

"Vouldn't she be better in de house?" whispered the anxious mother. 

"No, let Quonab do his own way, " and Rolf wondered if any white man hadsat by little Wee-wees to brush away the flies from his last bed. 

Chapter 52. Annette's New Dress

 Deep feelin's ain't any count by themselves; work 'em off, an' ye're somebody; weep 'em off an' you'd be more use with a heart o' stone--Sayings of Si Sylvanne. 

"Quonab, I am going out to get her a partridge. " "Ugh, good. "

So Rolf went off. For a moment he was inclined to grant Skookom's prayerfor leave to, follow, but another and better plan came in mind. Skookumwould most likely find a mother partridge, which none should kill inJune, and there was a simple way to find a cock; that was, listen. Itwas now the evening calm, and before Rolf had gone half a mile heheard the distant "Thump, thump, thump, thump--rrrrrrr" of a partridge, drumming. He went quickly and cautiously toward the place, then waitedfor the next drumming. It was slow in coming, so he knelt down by amossy, rotten log, and struck it with his hands to imitate the thump androll of the partridge. At once this challenge procured response. 

"Thump--thump--thump, thump rrrrrrrrrrrr" it came, with martial swingand fervour, and crawling nearer, Rolf spied the drummer, pompouslystrutting up and down a log some forty yards away. He took steady aim, not for the head--a strange gun, at forty yards--for the body. At thecrack, the bird fell dead, and in Rolf's heart there swelled up a littlegush of joy, which he believed was all for the sake of the invalid, butwhich a finer analysis might have proved to be due quite as much topride in himself and his newly bought gun. 

Night was coming on when he got back, and he found the Dutch parentsin some excitement. "Dot Indian he gay no bring Annette indoors for denight. How she sleep outdoors--like dog--like Bigger--like tramp? Yahit is bad, ain't it?" and poor old Hendrik looked sadly upset andmystified. 

"Hendrik, do you suppose God turns out worse air in the night than inthe day?"

"Ach, dunno. "

"Well, you see Quonab knows what he's doing. "

"Yah. "

"Well, let him do it. He or I'll sleep alongside the child she'll beall right, " and Rolf thought of those horrible brown crawlers under thebedding indoors. 

Rolf had much confidence in the Indian as a doctor, but he had more inhis own mother. He was determined to give Annette the quinine, yet hehesitated to interfere. At length, he said: "It is cool enough now; Iwill put these thin curtains round her bed. "

"Ugh, good!" but the red man sat there while it was being done. 

"You need not stay now; I'll watch her, Quonab. "

"Soon, give more medicine, " was the reply that Rolf did not want. So hechanged his ruse. "I wish you'd take that partridge and make soup of it. I've had my hands in poison ivy, so I dare not touch it. "

"Ach, dot shall I do. Dot kin myself do, " and the fat mother, laying therecent baby in its cradle, made cumbrous haste to cook the bird. 

"Foiled again, " was Rolf's thought, but his Yankee wit was with him. Helaid one hand on the bowl of snake-root tea. It was lukewarm. "Do yougive it hot or cold, Quonab?"

"Hot. "

"I'll take it in and heat it. " He carried it off, thinking, "If Quonabwon't let me give the bark extract, I'll make him give it. " In the gloomof the kitchen he had no difficulty in adding to the tea, quite unseen, a quarter of the extract; when heated, he brought it again, and theIndian himself gave the dose. 

As bedtime drew near, and she heard the red man say he would sleepthere, the little one said feebly, "Mother, mother, " then whispered inher mother's ear, "I want Rolf. "

Rolf spread his blanket by the cot and slept lightly. Once or twice herose to look at Annette. She was moving in her sleep, but did not awake. He saw to it that the mosquito bar was in place, and slept till morning. 

There was no question that the child was better. The renewed interest infood was the first good symptom, and the partridge served the end of itscreation. The snakeroot and the quinine did noble work, and thenceforthher recovery was rapid. It was natural for her mother to wish the childback indoors. It was a matter of course that she should go. It wasaccepted as an unavoidable evil that they should always have those browncrawlers about the bed. 

But Rolf felt differently. He knew what his mother would have thoughtand done. It meant another visit to Warren's, and the remedy he broughtwas a strong-smelling oil, called in those days "rock oil"--a crudepetroleum. When all cracks in the bed and near wall were treated withthis, it greatly mitigated, if it did not quite end, the nuisance of the"plague that walks in the dark. "

Meanwhile, Quonab had made good his welcome by working on the farm. Butwhen a week had flown, he showed signs of restlessness. "We have enoughmoney, Nibowaka, why do we stay?"

Rolf was hauling a bucket of water from the well at the time. He stoppedwith his burden on the well-sweep, gazed into the well, and said slowly:"I don't know. " If the truth were set forth, it would be that this wasthe only home circle he knew. It was the clan feeling that held him, andsoon it was clearly the same reason that was driving Quonab to roam. 

"I have heard, " said the Indian, "that my people still dwell in Canada, beyond Rouse's Point. I would see them. I will come again in the RedMoon (August). "

So they hired a small canoe, and one bright morning, with Skookum in thebow, Quonab paddled away on his voyage of 120 miles on the plead watersof Lakes George and Champlain. His canoe became a dark spot on thewater; slowly it faded till only the flashing paddle was seen, and thatwas lost around a headland. 

The next day Rolf was sorry he let Quonab go alone, for it was evidentthat Van Trumper needed no help for a month yet; that is, he could notafford to hire, and while it was well enough for Rolf to stay a few daysand work to equalize his board, the arrangement would not long continuesatisfactory to both. 

Yet there was one thing he must do before leaving, take Annette to pickout her dress. She was well again now, and they set off one morningin the canoe, she and Rolf. Neither father nor mother could leave thehouse. They had their misgivings, but what could they do? She wasbright and happy, full of the childish joy that belongs to that age, andengaged on such an important errand for the first time in her life. 

There was something more than childish joy showing in her face, an olderperson would have seen that, but it was largely lost on Rolf. There wasa tendency to blush when she laughed, a disposition to tease her "bigbrother, " to tyrannize over him in little things. 

"Now, you tell me some more about 'Robinson Crusoe, '" she began, as soonas they were in the canoe, and Rolf resumed the ancient, inspiring taleto have it listened to eagerly, but criticized from the standpoint ofa Lake George farm. "Where was his wife?" "How could he have a farmwithout hens?" "Dried grapes must be nice, but I'd rather have pork thangoat, " etc. 

Rolf, of course, took the part of Robinson Crusoe, and it gave him alittle shock to hear Quonab called his man Friday. 

At the west side they were to invite Mrs. Callan to join their shoppingtrip, but in any case they were to borrow a horse and buckboard. NeitherMrs. Callan nor the buckboard was available, but they were welcome tothe horse. So Annette was made comfortable on a bundle of blankets, and chattered incessantly while Rolf walked alongside with the graveinterest and superiority of a much older brother. So they crossed thefive-mile portage and came to Warren's store. Nervous and excited, with sparkling eyes, Annette laid down her marten skin, received fivedollars, and set about the tremendous task of selecting her first dressof really, truly calico print; and Rolf realized that the joy he hadfound in his new rifle was a very small affair, compared with theepoch-making, soul-filling, life-absorbing, unspeakable, and cataclysmalbliss that a small girl can have in her first chance of unfetteredaction in choice of a cotton print. 

"Beautiful?" How can mere words do justice to masses of yellow corn, mixed recklessly with green and scarlet poppies on a bright blue ground. No, you should have seen Annette's dress, or you cannot expect to getthe adequate thrill. And when they found that there was enough cash leftover to add a red cotton parasol to the glorious spoils, every one therebeamed in a sort of friendly joy, and the trader, carried away by theemotions of the hour, contributed a set of buttons of shining brass. 

Warren kept a "meal house, " which phrase was a ruse that saved him froma burdensome hospitality. Determined to do it all in the best style, Rolf took Annette to the meal-house table. She was deeply awed by thegrandeur of a tablecloth and white plates, but every one was kind. 

Warren, talking to a stranger opposite, and evidently resuming a subjectthey had discussed, said:

"Yes, I'd like to send the hull lot down to Albany this week, if I couldget another man for the canoe. "

Rolf was interested at once and said: "What wages are you offering?"

"Twenty-five dollars and board. "

"How will I do?"

"Well, " said Warren, as though thinking it over: "I dunno but ye would. Could ye go to-morrow?"

"Yes, indeed, for one month. "

"All right, it's a bargain. "

And so Rolf took the plunge that influenced his whole life. 

But Annette whispered gleefully and excitedly, "May I have some of that, and that?" pointing to every strange food she could see, and got themall. 

After noon they set out on their return journey, Annette clutching herprizes, and prattling incessantly, while Rolf walked alongside, thinkingdeeply, replying to her chatter, but depressed by the thought ofgood-bye tomorrow. He was aroused at length by a scraping sound overheadand a sharp reprimand, "Rolf, you'll tear my new parasol, if you don'tlead the horse better. "

By two o'clock they were at Callan's. Another hour and they had crossedthe lake, and Annette, shrill with joy, was displaying her treasures tothe wonder and envy of her kin. 

Making a dress was a simple matter in those and Marta promised: "Yah, soom day ven I one have, shall I it sew. " Meanwhile, Annette wasquaffing deep, soul-satisfying draughts in the mere contempt of theyellow, red, green, and blue glories in which was soon to appear inpublic. And when the bed came, she fell asleep holding the dress-goodsstuff in arms, and with the red parasol spread above her head, tiredout, but inexpressibly happy. 

Chapter 53. Travelling to the Great City

 He's a bad failure that ain't king in some little corner. --Sayings of Sylvanne Sylvanne

The children were not astir when Rolf was off in the morning. He caughta glimpse of Annette, still asleep under the red parasol, but the dressgoods and the brass buttons had fallen to the floor. He stepped into thecanoe. The dead calm of early morning was on the water, and the littlecraft went skimming and wimpling across. In half an hour it was beachedat Callan's. In a little more than an hour's jog and stride he was atWarren's, ready for work. As he marched in, strong and brisk, his colourup, his blue eyes kindled with the thought of seeing Albany, the tradercould not help being struck by him, especially when he remembered eachof their meetings--meetings in which he discerned a keen, young mind ofgood judgment, one that could decide quickly. 

Gazing at the lithe, red-checked lad, he said: "Say, Rolf, air ye anInjun??"

"No, sir. "

"Air ye a half-breed?"

"No, I'm a Yank; my name is Kittering; born and bred in Redding, Connecticut. "

"Well, I swan, ye look it. At fust I took ye fur an Injun; ye did lookdark (and Rolf laughed inside, as he thought of that butternut dye), butI'm bound to say we're glad yer white. "

"Here, Bill, this is Rolf, Rolf Kittering, he'll go with ye toAlbany. " Bill, a loose-jointed, middle-aged, flat-footed, large-handed, semi-loafer, with keen gray eyes, looked up from a bundle he was roping. 

Then Warren took Rolf aside and explained: "I'm sending down all my furthis trip. There's ten bales of sixty pounds each, pretty near my hullfortune. I want it took straight to Vandam's, and, night or day, don'tleave it till ye git it there. He's close to the dock. I'm telling yethis for two reasons: The river's swarming with pirates and sneaks. They'd like nothing better than to get away with a five-hundred-dollarbundle of fur; and, next, while Bill is A1 on the river and true assteel, he's awful weak on the liquor; goes crazy, once it's in him. AndI notice you've always refused it here. So don't stop at Troy, an'when ye get to Albany go straight past there to Vandam's. You'll havea letter that'll explain, and he'll supply the goods yer to bring back. He's a sort of a partner, and orders from him is same as from me. 

"I suppose I ought to go myself, but this is the time all the fur iscoming in here, an' I must be on hand to do the dickering, and there'stoo much much to risk it any longer in the storehouse. "

"Suppose, " said Rolf, "Bill wants to stop at Troy?"

"He won't. He's all right, given he's sober. I've give him the letter. "

"Couldn't you give me the letter, in case?"

"Law, Bill'd get mad and quit. "

"He'll never know. "

"That's so; I will. " So when they paddled away, Bill had an importantletter of instructions ostentatiously tucked in his outer pocket. Rolf, unknown to any one else but Warren, had a duplicate, wrapped inwaterproof, hidden in an inside pocket. 

Bill was A1 on the river; a kind and gentle old woodman, much strongerthan he looked. He knew the value of fur and the danger of wetting it, so he took no chances in doubtful rapids. This meant many portages andmuch hard labour. 

I wonder if the world realizes the hard labour of the portage or carry?Let any man who seeks for light, take a fifty-pound sack of flour on hisshoulders and walk a quarter of a mile on level ground in cool weather. Unless he is in training, he will find it a heavy burden long beforehe is half-way. Suppose, instead of a flour sack, the burden has sharpangles; the bearer is soon in torture. Suppose the weight carried bedouble; then the strain is far more than doubled. Suppose, finally, the road be not a quarter mile but a mile, and not on level but throughswamps, over rocks, logs, and roots, and the weather not cool, butsuffocating summer weather in the woods, with mosquitoes boring intoevery exposed part, while both hands are occupied, steadying the burdenor holding on to branches for help up steep places--and then he willhave some idea of the horror of the portage; and there were many ofthese, each one calling for six loaded and five light trips for eachcanoe-man. What wonder that men will often take chances in some fiercerapid, rather than to make a long carry through the fly-infested woods. 

It was weighty evidence of Bill's fidelity that again and again theymade a portage around rapids he had often run, because in the presentcase he was in sacred trust of that much prized commodity--fur. 

Eighty miles they called it from Warren's to Albany, but there were manyhalts and carries which meant long delay, and a whole week was coveredbefore Bill and Rolf had passed the settlements of Glens Falls, FortEdward, and Schuylerville, and guided their heavily laden canoe on thetranquil river, past the little town of Troy. Loafers hailed them fromthe bank, but Bill turned a deaf ear to all temptation; and they pushedon happy in the thought that now their troubles were over; the lastrapid was past; the broad, smooth waters extended to their port. 

Chapter 54. Albany

Only a man who in his youth has come at last in sight of some great cityhe had dreamed of all his life and longed to see, can enter into Rolf'sfeelings as they swept around the big bend, and Albany--Albany, hove inview. Albany, the first chartered city of the United States; Albany, thecapital of all the Empire State; Albany, the thriving metropolis withnearly six thousand living human souls; Albany with its State House, beautiful and dignified, looking down the mighty Hudson highway that ledto the open sea. 

Rolf knew his Bible, and now he somewhat realized the feelings of St. Paul on that historic day when his life-long dream came true, whenfirst he neared the Eternal City--when at last he glimpsed the towers ofimperial, splendid Rome. 

The long-strung docks were massed and webbed with ship rigging; thewater was livened with boats and canoes; the wooden warehouses back ofthe docks were overtopped by wooden houses in tiers, until high abovethem all the Capitol itself was the fitting climax. 

Rolf knew something of shipping, and amid all the massed boats his eyesfell on a strange, square-looking craft with a huge water-wheel on eachside. Then, swinging into better view, he read her name, the Clermont, and knew that this was the famous Fulton steamer, the first of thesteamboat age. 

But Bill was swamped by no such emotion. Albany, Hudson, Clermont, andall, were familiar stories to him and he stolidly headed the canoe forthe dock he knew of old. 

Loafers roosting on the snubbing posts hailed him, at first withraillery; but, coming nearer, he was recognized. "Hello, Bill; backagain? Glad to see you, " and there was superabundant help to land thecanoe. 

"Wall, wall, wall, so it's really you, " said the touter of a fur house, in extremely friendly voice; "come in now and we'll hev a drink. "

"No, sir-ree, " said Bill decisively, "I don't drink till business isdone. "

"Wall, now, Bill, here's Van Roost's not ten steps away an' he heztapped the finest bar'l in years. "

"No, I tell ye, I'm not drinking--now. "

"Wall, all right, ye know yer own business. I thought maybe ye'd be gladto see us. "

"Well, ain't I?"

"Hello, Bill, " and Bill's fat brother-in-law came up. "Thus does me good, an' yer sister is spilin' to see ye. We'll hev one on this. "

"No, Sam, I ain't drinkin'; I've got biz to tend. "

"Wall, hev just one to clear yer head. Then settle yer business and comeback to us. "

So Bill went to have one to clear his head. "I'll be back in twominutes, Rolf, " but Rolf saw him no more for many days. 

"You better come along, cub, " called out a red-nosed member of thegroup. But Rolf shook his head. 

"Here, I'll help you git them ashore, " volunteered an effusive stranger, with one eye. 

"I don't want help. "

"How are ye gain' to handle 'em alone?"

"Well, there's one thing I'd be glad to have ye do; that is, go up thereand bring Peter Vandam. "

"I'll watch yer stuff while you go. "

"No, I can't leave. " "Then go to blazes; d'yte take me for yer errandboy?" And Rolf was left alone. 

He was green at the business, but already he was realizing the power ofthat word fur and the importance of the peltry trade. Fur was the onevalued product of the wilderness that only the hunter could bring. Themerchants of the world were as greedy for fur as for gold, and far moreso than for precious stones. 

It was a commodity so light that, even in those days, a hundred weightof fur might range in value from one hundred to five thousand dollars, so that a man with a pack of fine furs was a capitalist. The profitsof the business were good for trapper, very large for the trader, whodoubled his first gain by paying in trade; but they were huge for theAlbany middleman, and colossal for the New Yorker who shipped to London. 

With such allurements, it was small wonder that more country wasexplored and opened for fur than for settlement or even for gold; andthere were more serious crimes and high-handed robberies over the rightto trade a few furs than over any other legitimate business. Thesethings were new to Rolf within the year, but he was learning the lesson, and Warren's remarks about fur stuck in his memory with growing value. Every incident since the trip began had given them new points. 

The morning passed without sign of Bill; so, when in the afternoon, somebare-legged boys came along, Rolf said to them: "Do any of ye know wherePeter Vandam's house is?"

"Yeh, that's it right there, " and they pointed to a large log house lessthan a hundred yards away. 

"Do ye know him?"

"Yeh, he's my paw, " said a sun-bleached freckle-face. 

"If you bring him here right away, I'll give you a dime. Tell him I'mfrom Warren's with a cargo. "

The dusty stampede that followed was like that of a mustang herd, for adime was a dime in those days. And very soon, a tall, ruddy man appearedat the dock. He was a Dutchman in name only. At first sight he was muchlike the other loafers, but was bigger, and had a more business-like airwhen observed near at hand. 

"Are you from Warren's?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Alone?"

"No, sir. I came with Bill Bymus. But he went off early this morning; Ihaven't seen him since. I'm afraid he's in trouble. "

"Where'd he go?"

"In there with some friends. "

"Ha, just like him; he's in trouble all right. He'll be no good for aweek. Last time he came near losing all our stuff. Now let's see whatye've got. "

"Are you Mr. Peter Vandam?"

"Of course I am. "

Still Rolf looked doubtful. There was a small group around, and Rolfheard several voices, "Yes, this is Peter; ye needn't a-worry. " But Rolfknew none of the speakers. His look of puzzlement at first annoyed thentickled the Dutchman, who exploded into a hearty guffaw. 

"Wall, wall, you sure think ill of us. Here, now look at that, " and hedrew out a bundle of letters addressed to Master Peter Vandam. Then hedisplayed a gold watch inscribed on the back "Peter Vandam"; next heshowed a fob seal with a scroll and an inscription, "Petrus Vandamus";then he turned to a youngster and said, "Run, there is the ReverendDr. Powellus, he may help us"; so the black-garbed, knee-breached, shovel-hatted clergyman came and pompously said: "Yes, my young friend, without doubt you may rest assured that this is our very estimableparishioner, Master Peter Vandam; a man well accounted in the world oftrade. "

"And now, " said Peter, "with the help of my birth-register andmarriage-certificate, which will be placed at your service with allpossible haste, I hope I may win your recognition. " The situation, atfirst tense, had become more and more funny, and the bystanders laughedaloud. Rolf rose to it, and smiling said slowly, "I am inclined to thinkthat you must be Master Peter Vandam, of Albany. If that's so, thisletter is for you, also this cargo. " And so the delivery was made. 

Bill Bymus has not delivered the other letter to this day. Presumably hewent to stay with his sister, but she saw little of him, for his stay atAlbany was, as usual, one long spree. It was clear that, but forRolf, there might have been serious loss of fur, and Vandam showed hisappreciation by taking the lad to his own home, where the story ofthe difficult identification furnished ground for gusty laughter andprimitive jest on many an after day. 

The return cargo for Warren consisted of stores that the Vandamwarehouse had in stock, and some stuff that took a day or more tocollect in town. 

As Rolf was sorting and packing next day, a tall, thin, well-dressedyoung man walked in with the air of one much at home. 

"Good morrow, Peter. "

"Good day to ye, sir, " and they talked of crops and politics. 

Presently Vandam said, "Rolf, come over here. "

He came and was presented to the tall man, who was indeed very thin, and looked little better than an invalid. "This, " said Peter, "is MasterHenry van Cortlandt the son of his honour, the governor, and a verylearned barrister. He wants to go on a long hunting trip for his health. I tell him that likely you are the man he needs. "

This was so unexpected that Rolf turned red and gazed on the ground. VanCortlandt at once began to clear things by interjecting: "You see, I'mnot strong. I want to live outdoors for three months, where I can havesome hunting and be beyond reach of business. I'll pay you a hundreddollars for the three months, to cover board and guidance. And providingI'm well pleased and have good hunting, I'll give you fifty dollars morewhen I get back to Albany. "

"I'd like much to be your guide, " said Rolf, "but I have a partner. Imust find out if he's willing. "

"Ye don't mean-that drunken Bill Bymus?"

"No! my hunting partner; he's an Indian. " Then, after a pause, he added, "You wouldn't go in fly-time, would you?"

"No, I want to be in peace. But any time after the first of August. "

"I am bound to help Van Trumper with his harvest; that will take most ofAugust. "

As he talked, the young lawyer sized him up and said to himself, "Thisis my man. "

And before they parted it was agreed that Rolf should come to Albanywith Quonab as soon as he could return in August, to form the campingparty for the governor's son. 

Chapter 55. The Rescue of Bill

Bales were ready and the canoe newly gummed three days aftertheir arrival, but still no sign of Bill. A messengers sent to thebrother-in-law's home reported that he had not been seen for two days. In spite of the fact that Albany numbered nearly "six thousand livinghuman souls, " a brief search by the docksharps soon revealed thesinner's retreat. His worst enemy would have pitied him; a red-eyedwreck; a starved, sick and trembling weakling; conscience-stricken, for the letter intrusted to him was lost; the cargo stolen--so hiscomforters had said--and the raw country lad murdered and thrown outinto the river. What wonder that he should shun the light of day! Andwhen big Peter with Rolf in the living flesh, instead of the sheriff, stood before him and told him to come out of that and get into thecanoe, he wept bitter tears of repentance and vowed that never, never, never, as long as he lived would he ever again let liquor touch hislips. A frame of mind which lasted in strength for nearly one day and ahalf, and did not entirely varnish for three. 

They passed Troy without desiring to stop, and began their fight withthe river. It was harder than when coming, for their course was againststream when paddling, up hill when portaging, the water was lower, thecargo was heavier, and Bill not so able. Ten days it took them to coverthose eighty miles. But they came out safely, cargo and all, and landedat Warren's alive and well on the twenty-first day since leaving. 

Bill had recovered his usual form. Gravely and with pride he marchedup to Warren and handed out a large letter which read outside, "Bill ofLading, " and when opened, read: "The bearer of this, Bill Bymus, is nogood. Don't trust him to Albany any more. (Signed) Peter Vandam. "

Warren's eyes twinkled, but he said nothing. He took

Rolf aside and said, "Let's have it. " Rolf gave him the real letterthat, unknown to Bill, he had carried, and Warren learned some thingsthat he knew before. 

Rolf's contract was for a month; it had ten days to run, and those tendays were put in weighing sugar, checking accounts, milking cows, andwatching the buying of fur. Warren didn't want him to see too much ofthe fur business, but Rolf gathered quickly that these were the mainprinciples: Fill the seller with liquor, if possible; "fire water forfur" was the idea; next, grade all fur as medium or second-class, whencash was demanded, but be easy as long as payment was to be in trade. That afforded many loopholes between weighing, grading, charging, andshrinkage, and finally he noticed that Albany prices were 30 to 50 percent. Higher than Warren prices. Yet Warren was reckoned a first-classfellow, a good neighbour, and a member of the church. But it wasunderstood everywhere that fur, like horseflesh, was a business withmoral standards of its own. 

A few days before their contract was up, Warren said: "How'd ye like torenew for a month?"

"Can't; I promised to help Van Trumper with his harvest. "

"What does he pay ye?"

"Seventy-five cents a day and board. "

"I'll make it a dollar. "

"I've given my word, " said Rolf, in surprise. 

"Hey ye signed papers?"

"They're not needed. The only use of signed papers is to show yehave given your word, " said Rolf, quoting his mother, with risingindignation. 

The trader sniffed a little contemptuously and said nothing. But herealized the value of a lad who was a steady, intelligent worker, wouldn't drink, and was absolutely bound by a promise; so, after awhile, he said: "Wall, if Van don't want ye now, come back for a couple ofweeks. "

Early in the morning Rolf gathered the trifles he had secured for thelittle children and the book he had bought for Annette, a sweet story ofa perfect girl who died and went to heaven, the front embellished with athrilling wood-cut. Then he crossed the familiar five-mile portage at apace that in an hour brought him to the lake. 

The greeting at Van's was that of a brother come home. 

"Vell, Rolf, it's goood to see ye back. It's choost vat I vented. Hi, Marta, I told it you, yah. I say, now I hope ze good Gott send Rolf. Ach, how I am shpoil!"

Yes, indeed. The hay was ready; the barley was changing. So Rolf tookup his life on the farm, doing work that a year before was beyond hisstrength, for the spirit of the hills was on him, with its impulse ofgrowth, its joy in effort, its glory in strength. And all who saw thelonglegged, long-armed, flat-backed youth plying fork or axe or hoe, insome sort ventured a guess: "He'll be a good 'un some day; the kind o'chap to keep friendly with. 

Chapter 56. The Sick Ox

The Thunder Moon passed quickly by; the hay was in; the barley partlyso. Day by day the whitefaced oxen toiled at the creaking yoke, as theloads of hay and grain were jounced cumbrously over roots and stumps ofthe virgin fields. Everything was promising well, when, as usual, therecame a thunderbolt out of the clear sky. Buck, the off ox, fell sick. 

Those who know little about cattle have written much of the meek andpatient ox. Those who know them well tell us that the ox is the "mostcussedest of all cussed" animals; a sneak, a bully, a coward, a thief, a shirk, a schemer; and when he is not in mischief he is thinkingabout it. The wickedest pack mule that ever bucked his burden is apinfeathered turtle-dove compared with an average ox. There aresome gentle oxen, but they are rare; most are treacherous, some aredangerous, and these are best got rid of, as they mislead their yokemates and mislay their drivers. Van's two oxen, Buck and Bright, manifested the usual variety and contrariety of disposition. They wereall right when well handled, and this Rolf could do better than Van, for he was "raised on oxen, " and Van's over voluble, sputtering, Dutch-English seemed ill comprehended of the massive yoke beasts. Thesimpler whip-waving and fewer orders of the Yankee were so obviouslysuccessful that Van had resigned the whip of authority and Rolf wasdriver. 

Ordinarily, an ox driver walks on the hew (nigh or left) side, nearthe head of his team, shouting "gee" (right), "haw" (left), "get up, ""steady, " or "whoa" (stop), accompanying the order with a waving of thewhip. Foolish drivers lash the oxen on the haw side when they wish themto gee--and vice versa; but it is notorious that all good drivers dolittle lashing. Spare the lash or spoil your team. So it was not longbefore Rolf could guide them from the top of the load, as they travelledfrom shook to shook in the field. This voice of command saved his life, or at least his limb, one morning, for he made a misstep that tumbledhim down between the oxen and the wagon. At once the team started, buthis ringing "Whoa!" brought them to a dead stop, and saved him; whereas, had it been Van's "Whoa!" it would have set them off at a run, for everyshout from him meant a whip lick to follow. 

Thus Rolf won the respect, if not the love, of the huge beasts; more andmore they were his charge, and when, on that sad morning, in the last ofthe barley, Van came in, "Ach, vot shall I do! Vot shall I do! Dot Buckox be nigh dead. "

Alas! there he lay on the ground, his head sometimes raised, sometimesstretched out flat, while the huge creature uttered short moans attimes. 

Only four years before, Rolf had seen that same thing at Redding. The rolling eye, the working of the belly muscles, the straining andmoaning. "It's colic; have you any ginger?"

"No, I hat only dot soft soap. "

What soft soap had to do with ginger was not clear, and Rolf wondered ifit had some rare occult medical power that had escaped his mother. 

"Do you know where there's any slippery elm?"

"Yah. "

"Then bring a big boiling of the bark, while I get some peppermint. "

The elm bark was boiled till it made a kettleful of brown slime. Thepeppermint was dried above the stove till it could be powdered, and mixed with the slippery slush. Some sulphur and some soda werediscovered and stirred in, on general principles, and they hastened tothe huge, helpless creature in the field. 

Poor Buck seemed worse than ever. He was flat on his side, with hisspine humped up, moaning and straining at intervals. But now relief wasin sight--so thought the men. With a tin dipper they tried to poursome relief into the open mouth of the sufferer, who had so littleappreciation that he simply taxed his remaining strength to blow it outin their faces. Several attempts ended the same way. Then the brute, inwhat looked like temper, swung his muzzle and dashed the whole dipperaway. Next they tried the usual method, mixing it with a bran mash, considered a delicacy in the bovine world, but Buck again took notice, under pressure only, to dash it away and waste it all. 

It occurred to them they might force it down his throat if they couldraise his head. So they used a hand lever and a prop to elevate themuzzle, and were about to try another inpour, when Buck leaped to hisfeet, and behaving like one who has been shamming, made at full gallopfor the stable, nor stopped till safely in his stall, where at once hedropped in all the evident agony of a new spasm. 

It is a common thing for oxen to sham sick, but this was the real thing, and it seemed they were going to lose the ox, which meant also lose alarge part of the harvest. 

In the stable, now, they had a better chance; they tied him, then raisedhis head with a lever till his snout was high above his shoulders. Nowit seemed easy to pour the medicine down that long, sloping passage. Buthis mouth was tightly closed, any that entered his nostrils was blownafar, and the suffering beast strained at the rope till he seemed likelyto strangle. 

Both men and ox were worn out with the struggle; the brute was nobetter, but rather worse. 

"Wall, " said Rolf, "I've seen a good many ornery steers, but that's theorneriest I ever did handle, an' I reckon we'll lose him if he don't getthat poison into him pretty soon. "

Oxen never were studied as much as horses, for they were considered atemporary shift, and every farmer looked forward to replacing them withthe latter. Oxen were enormously strong, and they could flourish withoutgrain when the grass was good; they never lost their head in a swamphole, and ploughed steadily among all kinds of roots and stumps; butthey were exasperatingly slow and eternally tricky. Bright, being thetrickier of the two, was made the nigh ox, to be more under control. Ordinarily Rolf could manage Buck easily, but the present situationseemed hopeless. In his memory he harked back to Redding days, and herecalled old Eli Gooch, the ox expert, and wondered what he would havedone. Then, as he sat, he caught sight of the sick ox reaching out itshead and deftly licking up a few drops of bran mash that had fallen fromhis yoke fellow's portion. A smile spread over Rolf's face. "Just likeyou; you think nothing's good except it's stolen. All right; we'll see. "He mixed a big dose of medicine, with bran, as before. Then he tiedBright's head so that he could not reach the ground, and set the bucketof mash half way between the two oxen. "Here ye are, Bright, " he said, as a matter of form, and walked out of the stable; but, from a crack, hewatched. Buck saw a chance to steal Bright's bran; he looked around; Oh, joy! his driver was away. He reached out cautiously; sniffed; his longtongue shot forth for a first taste, when Rolf gave a shout and ran in. "Hi, you old robber! Let that alone; that's for Bright. "

The sick ox was very much in his own stall now, and stayed there forsome time after Rolf went to resume his place at the peephole. Butencouraged by a few minutes of silence, he again reached out, andhastily gulped down a mouthful of the mixture before Rolf shouted andrushed in armed with a switch to punish the thief. Poor Bright, by hisefforts to reach the tempting mash, was unwittingly playing the game, for this was proof positive of its desirableness. 

After giving Buck a few cuts with the switch, Rolf retired, as before. Again the sick ox waited for silence, and reaching out with greedyhaste, he gulped down the rest and emptied the bucket; seeing which, Rolf ran in and gave the rogue a final trouncing for the sake ofconsistency. 

Any one who knows what slippery elm, peppermint, soda, sulphur, colic, and ox do when thoroughly interincorporated will not be surprised tolearn that in the morning the stable needed special treatment, and ofall the mixture the ox was the only ingredient left on the active list. He was all right again, very thirsty, and not quite up to his usualstandard, but, as Van said, after a careful look, "Ah, tell you vot, dotyou vas a veil ox again, an' I t'ink I know not vot if you all trickyvas like Bright. "

Chapter 57. Rolf and Skookum at Albany

The Red Moon (August) follows the Thunder Moon, and in the early part ofits second week Rolf and Van, hauling in the barley and discussing thefitness of the oats, were startled by a most outrageous clatter amongthe hens. Horrid murder evidently was stalking abroad, and, hasteningto the rescue, Rolf heard loud, angry barks; then a savage beast witha defunct "cackle party" appeared, but dropped the victim to bark andbound upon the "relief party" with ecstatic expressions of joy, in spiteof Rolf's--"Skookum! you little brute!"

Yes! Quonab was back; that is, he was at the lake shore, and Skookum hadmade haste to plunge into the joys and gayeties of this social centre, without awaiting the formalities of greeting or even of dry-shodlanding. 

The next scene was--a big, high post, a long, strong chain and a small, sad dog. 

"Ho, Quonab, you found your people? You had a good time?"

"Ugh, " was the answer, the whole of it, and all the light Rolf got formany a day on the old man's trip to the North. The prospect of going toAlbany for Van Cortlandt was much more attractive to Quonab than that ofthe harvest field, so a compromise was agreed on. Callan's barley was inthe stock; if all three helped Callan for three days, Callan would owethem for nine, and so it was arranged. 

Again "good-bye, " and Rolf, Quonab, and little dog Skookum went sailingdown the Schroon toward the junction, where they left a cache of theirsupplies, and down the broadening Hudson toward Albany. 

Rolf had been over the road twice; Quonab never before, yet his nose forwater was so good and the sense of rapid and portage was so strong inthe red man, that many times he was the pilot. "This is the way, becauseit must be"; "there it is deep because so narrow"; "that rapid isdangerous, because there is such a well-beaten portage trail"; "thatwe can run, because I see it, " or, "because there is no portage trail, "etc. The eighty miles were covered in three sleeps, and in the mid-moondays of the Red Moon they landed at the dock in front of Peter Vandam's. If Quonab had any especial emotions for the occasion, he cloakedthem perfectly under a calm and copper-coloured exterior of absoluteimmobility. 

Their Albany experiences included a meeting with the governor and anencounter with a broad and burly river pirate, who, seeing a lone andpeaceable-looking red man, went out of his way to insult him; and whenQuonab's knife flashed out at last, it was only his recently establishedrelations with the governor's son that saved him from some very sadresults, for there were many loafers about. But burly Vandam appeared inthe nick of time to halt the small mob with the warning: "Don't you knowthat's Mr. Van Cortlandt's guide?" With the governor and Vandam to backhim, Quonab soon had the mob on his side, and the dock loafer's ownfriends pelted him with mud as he escaped. But not a little creditis due to Skookum, for at the critical moment he had sprung on theruffian's bare and abundant leg with such toothsome effect that theowner fell promptly backward and the knife thrust missed. It was quicklyover and Quonab replaced his knife, contemptuous of the whole crowdbefore, during and after the incident. Not at the time, but days later, he said of his foe: "He was a talker; he was full of fear. "

With the backwoods only thirty miles away, and the unbroken wildernessone hundred, it was hard to believe how little Henry van Cortlandt knewof the woods and its life. He belonged to the ultra-fashionable set, andit was rather their pose to affect ignorance of the savage world andits ways. But he had plenty of common-sense to fan back on, and theinspiring example of Washington, equally at home in the nation'sParliament, the army intrenchment, the glittering ball room, or thehunting lodge of the Indian, was a constant reminder that the perfectman is a harmonious development of mind, morals, and physique. 

His training had been somewhat warped by the ultraclassic fashion ofthe times, so he persisted in seeing in Quonab a sort of discoloured, barbaric clansman of Alaric or a camp follower of Xenophon's host, rather than an actual living, interesting, native American, exemplifyingin the highest degree the sinewy, alert woodman, and the saturatedmystic and pantheist of an age bygone and out of date, combined witha middle-measure intelligence. And Rolf, tall, blue-eyed with brown, curling hair, was made to pose as the youthful Achilles, rather thanas a type of America's best young manhood, cleaner, saner, and of farhigher ideals and traditions than ever were ascribed to Achilles by hismost blinded worshippers. It recalled the case of Wordsworth and Southeyliving side by side in England; Southey, the famous, must needs seek inancient India for material to write his twelve-volume romance that noone ever looks at; Wordsworth, the unknown, wrote of the things of hisown time, about his own door? and produced immortal verse. 

What should we think of Homer, had he sung his impressions of theancient Egyptians? or of Thackeray, had he novelized the life of theBabylonians? It is an ancient blindness, with an ancient wall to bruiseone's head. It is only those who seek ointment of the consecrated claythat gives back sight, who see the shining way at their feet, who beattheir face against no wall, who safely climb the heights. Henry vanCortlandt was a man of rare parts, of every advantage, but still he hadbeen taught steadfastly to live in the past. His eyes were yet to beopened. The living present was not his--but yet to be. 

The young lawyer had been assembling his outfit at Vandam's warehouse, for, in spite of scoffing friends, he knew that Rolf was coming back tohim. 

When Rolf saw the pile of stuff that was gathered for that outfit, hestared at it aghast, then looked at Vandam, and together they roared. There was everything for light housekeeping and heavy doctoring, evenchairs, a wash stand, a mirror, a mortar, and a pestle. Six canoes couldscarcely have carried the lot. 

"'Tain't so much the young man as his mother, " explained Big Pete; "atfirst I tried to make 'em understand, but it was no use; so I says, 'Allright, go ahead, as long as there's room in the warehouse. ' I reckonI'll set on the fence and have some fun seein' Rolf ontangle theaffair. "

"Phew, pheeeww--ph-e-e-e-e-w, " was all Rolf could say in answer. Butat last, "Wall, there's always a way. I sized him up as pretty levelheaded. We'll see. "

There was a way and it was easy, for, in a secret session, Rolf, Pete, and Van Cortlandt together sorted out the things needed. A small tent, blankets, extra clothes, guns, ammunition, delicate food for threemonths, a few medicines and toilet articles--a pretty good load for onecanoe, but a trifle compared with the mountain of stuff piled up on thefloor. 

"Now, Mr. Van Cortlandt, " said Rolf, "will you explain to your motherthat we are going on with this so as to travel quickly, and will sendback for the rest as we need it?"

A quiet chuckle was now heard from Big Pete. "Good! I wondered how he'dsettle it. "

The governor and his lady saw them off; therefore, there was a crowd. The mother never before had noted what a frail and dangerous thing acanoe is. She cautioned her son never to venture out alone, and to besure that he rubbed his chest with the pectoral balm she had made fromsuch and such a famous receipt, the one that saved the life but notthe limb of old Governor Stuyvesant, and come right home if you catch acold; and wait at the first camp till the other things come, and (in awhisper) keep away from that horrid red Indian with the knife, and neverfail to let every one know who you are, and write regularly, and don'tforget to take your calomel Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, alternatingwith Peruvian bark Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, and squills onSunday, except every other week, when he should devote Tuesdays, Fridays, and Sundays to rhubarb and catnip tea, except in the fullmoon, when the catnip was to be replaced with graveyard bergamot and thesquills with opodeldoc in which an iron nail had been left for a week. 

So Henry was embraced, Rolf was hand-shaken, Quonab was nodded at, Skookum was wisely let alone, and the trim canoe swung from the dock. Amid hearty cheers, farewells, and "God speed ye's" it breasted theflood for the North. 

And on the dock, with kerchief to her eyes, stood the mother, weeping tothink that her boy was going far, far away from his home and friends indear, cultured, refined Albany, away, away, to that remote and barbarousinaccessible region almost to the shore land of Lake Champlain. 

Chapter 58. Back to Indian Lake

Young Van Cortlandt, six feet two in his socks and thirty-four inchesaround the chest, was, as Rolf long afterward said, "awful good rawmaterial, but awful raw. " Two years out of college, half of which hadbeen spent at the law, had done little but launch him as a physicalweakling and a social star. But his mental make-up was more than good;it was of large promise. He lacked neither courage nor sense, and thecourse he now followed was surely the best for man-making. 

Rolf never realized how much a farmer-woodman-canoeman-hunter-camper hadto know, until now he met a man who did not know anything, nor dreamedhow many wrong ways there were of doing a job, till he saw his newcompanion try it. 

There is no single simple thing that is a more complete measure of one'swoodcraft than the lighting of a fire. There are a dozen good ways anda thousand wrong ones. A man who can light thirty fires on thirtysuccessive days with thirty matches or thirty sparks from flint andsteel is a graduated woodman, for the feat presupposes experience ofmany years and the skill that belongs to a winner. 

When Quonab and Rolf came back from taking each a load over the firstlittle portage, they found Van Cortlandt getting ready for a fire with agreat, solid pile of small logs, most of them wet and green. He knew howto use flint and steel, because that was the established household wayof the times. Since childhood had he lighted the candle at home by thisprimitive means. When his pile of soggy logs was ready, he struck hisflint, caught a spark on the tinder that is always kept on hand, blewit to a flame, thrust in between two of the wet logs, waited for all toblaze up, and wondered why the tiny blaze went out at once, no matterhow often he tried. 

When the others came back, Van Cortlandt remarked: "It doesn't seem toburn. " The Indian turned away in silent contempt. Rolf had hard work tokeep the forms of respect, until the thought came: "I suppose I lookedjust as big a fool in his world at Albany. "

"See, " said he, "green wood and wet wood won't do, but yonder is somebirch bark and there's a pine root. " He took his axe and cut a fewsticks from the root, then used his knife to make a sliver-fuzz of each;one piece, so resinous that it would not whittle, he smashed withthe back of the axe into a lot of matchwood. With a handful of finelyshredded birch bark he was now quite ready. A crack of the flint ablowing of the spark caught on the tinder from the box, a little flamethat at once was magnified by the birch bark, and in a minute the pinesplinters made a sputtering fire. Quonab did not even pay Van Cortlandtthe compliment of using one of his logs. He cut a growing poplar, builta fireplace of the green logs around the blaze that Rolf had made, andthe meal was ready in a few minutes. 

Van Cortlandt was not a fool; merely it was all new to him. But hisattention was directed to fire-making now, and long before they reachedtheir cabin he had learned this, the first of the woodman's arts--hecould lay and light a fire. And when, weeks later, he not only made theflint fire, but learned in emergency to make the rubbing stick spark, his cup of joy was full. He felt he was learning. 

Determined to be in everything, now he paddled all day; at first withvigour, then mechanically, at last feebly and painfully. Late in theafternoon they made the first long portage; it was a quarter mile. Rolftook a hundred pounds, Quonab half as much more, Van Cortlandt totteredslowly behind with his pill-kit and his paddle. That night, on his amplemattress, he slept the sleep of utter exhaustion. Next day he did littleand said nothing. It came on to rain; he raised a huge umbrella andcrouched under it till the storm was over. But the third day he began toshow signs of new life, and before they reached the Schroon's mouth, onthe fifth day, his young frame was already responding to the elixir ofthe hills. 

It was very clear that they could not take half of the stuff that theyhad cached at the Schroon's mouth, so that a new adjustment was neededand still a cache to await another trip. 

That night as they sat by their sixth camp fire, Van Cortlandt ponderedover the recent days, and they seemed many since he had left home. He felt much older and stronger. He felt not only less strange, butpositively intimate with the life, the river, the canoe, and hiscomrades; and, pleased with his winnings, he laid his hand on Skookum, slumbering near, only to arouse in response a savage growl, as thatimportant animal arose and moved to the other side of the fire. Neverdid small dog give tall man a more deliberate snub. "You can't do thatwith Skookum; you must wait till he's ready, " said Rolf. 

The journey up the Hudson with its "mean" waters and its "carries" wasmuch as before. Then they came to the eagle's nest and the easy watersof Jesup's River, and without important incident they landed at thecabin. The feeling of "home again" spread over the camp and every onewas gay. 

Chapter 59. Van Cortlandt's Drugs

"AIN'T ye feelin' all right?" said Rolf, one bright, calomel morning, ashe saw Van Cortlandt preparing his daily physic. 

"Why, yes; I'm feeling fine; I'm better every day, " was the jovialreply. 

"Course I don't know, but my mother used to say: 'Med'cine's the stuffmakes a sick man well, an' a well man sick. "'

"My mother and your mother would have fought at sight, as you may judge. B-u-t, " he added with reflective slowness, and a merry twinkle in hiseye, "if things were to be judged by their product, I am afraid yourmother would win easily, " and he laid his long, thin, scrawny handbeside the broad, strong hand of the growing youth. 

"Old Sylvanne wasn't far astray when he said: 'There aren't any sick, 'cept them as thinks they are, "' said Rolf. "I suppose I ought to beginto taper off, " was the reply. But the tapering was very sudden. Before aweek went by, it seemed desirable to go back for the stuff left in cacheon the Schroon, where, of course, it was subject to several risks. Thereseemed no object in taking Van Cortlandt back, but they could notwell leave him alone. He went. He had kept time with fairregularity--calomel, rhubarb; calomel, rhubarb; calomel, rhubarb, squills--but Rolf's remarks had sunk into his intelligence, as ared-hot shot will sink through shingles, letting in light and creatingrevolution. 

This was a rhubarb morning. He drank his potion, then, carefullystoppering the bottle, he placed it with its companions in a box andstowed that near the middle of the canoe. "I'll be glad when it'sfinished, " he said reflectively; "I don't believe I need it now. I wishsometimes I could run short of it all. "

That was what Rolf had been hoping for. Without such a remark, he wouldnot have dared do as he did. He threw the tent cover over the canoeamidships, causing the unstable craft to cant: "That won't do, " heremarked, and took out several articles, including the medicine chest, put them ashore under the bushes, and, when he replaced them, contrivedthat the medicine should be forgotten. 

Next morning Van Cortlandt, rising to prepare his calomel, got a shockto find it not. 

"It strikes me, " says Rolf, "the last time I saw that, it was on thebank when we trimmed the canoe. " Yes, there could be no doubt of it. Van must live his life in utter druglessness for a time. It gave himsomewhat of a scare, much like that a young swimmer gets when he findshe has drifted away from his floats; and, like that same beginner, itbraced him to help himself. So Van found that he could swim withoutcorks. 

They made a rapid journey down, and in a week they were back with theload. 

There was the potion chest where they had left it. Van Cortlandtpicked it up with a sheepish smile, and they sat down for evening meal. Presently Rolf said: "I mind once I seen three little hawks in a nesttogether. The mother was teaching them to fly. Two of them started offall right, and pretty soon were scooting among the treetops. The otherwas scared. He says: 'No, mother, I never did fly, and I'm scared I'dget killed if I tried. ' At last the mother got mad and shoved him over. As soon as he felt he was gone, he spread out his wings to save himself. The wings were all right enough, and long before he struck the ground, he was flying. "

Chapter 61. Rolf Learns Something from Van

 A man can't handle his own case, any more than a delirious doctor kin give himself the right physic. --Saying of Si Sylvanne. 

However superior Rolf might feel in the canoe or the woods, there wasone place where Van Cortlandt took the lead, and that was in the longtalks they had by the campfire or in Van's own shanty which Quonabrarely entered. 

The most interesting subjects treated in these were ancient Greece andmodern Albany. Van Cortlandt was a good Greek scholar, and, finding anintelligent listener, he told the stirring tales of royal Ilion, Athens, and Pergamos, with the loving enthusiasm of one whom the teachers foundit easy to instruct in classic lore. And when he recited or intonedthe rolling Greek heroics of the siege of Troy, Rolf listened with aninterest that was strange, considering that he knew not a word of it. But he said, "It sounded like real talk, and the tramp of men that wereall astir with something big a-doing. "

Albany and politics, too, were vital strains, and life at the GovernmentHouse, with the struggling rings and cabals, social and political. Thesewere extraordinarily funny and whimsical to Rolf. No doubt because VanCortlandt presented them that way. And he more than once wondered howrational humans could waste their time in such tomfoolery and childishthings as all conventionalities seemed to be. Van Cortlandt smiled athis remarks, but made no answer for long. 

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

"Go ahead, " said Rolf. 

"After you, " was the polite reply. 

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

Van Cortlandt touched his hat and went in. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 62. The Charm of Song

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

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

"What's he doing, Rolf?"

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

"Do you know what it means?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I've done some trying. "

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rolf learned, not easily or at single talk:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Here's your chance, " he whispered. 

"Where?" was the eager query. 

"There; see that gray and white thing?"

"I can't see him. "

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

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

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

"Yes, I have my Virgil. "

"Read me the first page. "

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rolf melted into the woods. In twenty minutes Van heard a shot and verysoon Rolf reappeared, carrying a two-year-old buck, and they returnedto their camp by nightfall. Quonab glanced at their faces as they passedcarrying the little buck. They tried to look inscrutable. But the Indianwas not deceived. He gave out nothing but a sizzling "Humph!"

Chapter 63. The Redemption of Van

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

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

The surmise was quite right. Much new-fallen timber was now acrossthe channel. They chopped over twenty-five trunks before they reachedEagle's Nest at noon, and, leaving the river in better shape than everit was, they turned, for the swift, straight, silent run of ten mileshome. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 64. Dinner at the Governor's

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

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

A great crowd gathered by the dock. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fortunately, sir, Pennyslvania, Maryland, and the West have notforgotten the glories of the past. All I ask--is a chance to show whatwe can do, sir. I long for the smell of powder once more, sir. "

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 65. The Grebes and the Singing Mouse

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

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

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

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

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

"Quonab does. "

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

The Indian nodded. 

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

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

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

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

Next day the lake was covered with thin, glare ice; on the glassysurface near the shore were two ducks floundering. The men went as nearas they could, and Quonab said, "No, not duck, but Shingebis, divers. They cannot rise except from water. In the night the new ice looks likewater; they come down and cannot rise. I have often seen it. " Two daysafter, a harder frost came on. The ice was safe for a dog; the divers orgrebes were still on its surface. So they sent Skookum. He soon returnedwith two beautiful grebes, whose shining, white breast feathers are asmuch prized as some furs. 

Quonab grunted as he held them up. "Ugh, it is often so in this MadMoon. My father said it is because of Kaluskap's dancing. "

"I don't remember that one. "

"Yes, long ago. Kaluskap felt lazy. He wanted to eat, but did not wishto hunt, so he called the bluejay and said: 'Tell all the woods thatto-morrow night Kaluskap gives a new dance and teaches a new song, 'and he told the hoot owl to do the same, so one kept it up allday--'Kaluskap teaches a new dance to-morrow night, ' and the other keptit up all night: 'Kaluskap teaches a new song at next council. '

"Thus it came about that all the woods and waters sent their folk to thedance. 

"Then Kaluskap took his song-drum and said: 'When I drum and sing youmust dance in a circle the same way as the sun, close your eyes tightly, and each one shout his war whoop, as I cry "new songs"!'

"So all began, with Kaluskap drumming in the middle, singing:

"'New songs from the south, brothers, Close your eyes tightly, brothers, Dance and learn a new song. 

"As they danced around, he picked out the fattest, and, reaching outone hand, seized them and twisted their necks, shouting out, 'Morewar-cries, more poise! that's it; now you are learning!'

"At length Shingebis the diver began to have his doubts and hecautiously opened one eye, saw the trick, and shouted: 'Fly, brothers, fly! Kaluskap is killing us!'

"Then all was confusion. Every one tried to escape, and Kaluskap, inrevenge, tried to kill the Shingebis. But the diver ran for the waterand, just as he reached the edge, Kaluskap gave him a kick behind thatsent him half a mile, but it knocked off all his tail feathers andtwisted his shape so that ever since his legs have stuck out where histail was, and he cannot rise from the land or the ice. I know it is so, for my father, Cos Cob, told me it was true, and we ourselves have seenit. It is ever so. To go against Kaluskap brings much evil to broodover. "

A few nights later, as they sat by their fire in the cabin, a curioussqueaking was heard behind the logs. They had often heard it before, butnever so much as now. Skookum turned his head on one side, set his earsat forward cock. Presently, from a hole 'twixt logs and chimney, thereappeared a small, white breasted mouse. 

Its nose and ears shivered a little; its black eyes danced in thefirelight. It climbed up to a higher log, scratched its ribs, thenrising on its hind legs, uttered one or two squeaks like those they hadheard so often, but soon they became louder and continuous:

"Peg, peo, peo, peo, peo, peo, peo, oo. Tree, tree, tree, tree, trrrrrrr, Turr, turr, turr, tur, tur, Wee, wee, wee, we"--

The little creature was sitting up high on its hind legs, its bellymuscles were working, its mouth was gaping as it poured out its music. For fully half a minute this went on, when Skookum made a dash; but themouse was quick and it flashed into the safety of its cranny. 

Rolf gazed at Quonab inquiringly. 

"That is Mish-a-boh-quas, the singing mouse. He always comes to tell ofwar. In a little while there will be fighting. "

Chapter 66. A Lesson in Stalking

"Did you ever see any fighting, Quonab?"

"Ugh! In Revolution, scouted for General Gates. "

"Judging by the talk, we're liable to be called on before a year. Whatwill you do?"

"Fight. "

"As soldier?"

"No! scout. "

"They may not want us. "

"Always want scouts, " replied the Indian. 

"It seems to me I ought to start training now. "

"You have been training. "

"How is that?"

"A scout is everything that an army is, but it's all in one man. An' hedon't have to keep step. "

"I see, I see, " replied Rolf, and he realized that a scout is merelya trained hunter who is compelled by war to hunt his country's foesinstead of the beasts of the woods. 

"See that?" said the Indian, and he pointed to a buck that was nosingfor cranberries in the open expanse across the river where it left thelake. "Now, I show you scouting. " He glanced at the smoke from the fire, found it right for his plan, and said: "See! I take my bow. No cover, yet I will come close and kill that deer. "

Then began a performance that was new to Rolf, and showed that theIndian had indeed reached the highest pitch of woodcraft. He took hisbow and three good arrows, tied a band around his head, and into thisstuck a lot of twigs and vines, so that his head looked like a tussockof herbage. Then he left the shanty door, and, concealed by the lastbushes on the edge, he reached the open plain. Two hundred yards off wasthe buck, nosing among the herbage, and, from time to time, raising itssuperb head and columnar neck to look around. There was no cover butcreeping herbage. Rolf suspected that the Indian would decoy the buck bysome whistle or challenge, for the thickness of its neck showed the deerto be in fighting humour. 

Flat on his breast the Indian lay. His knees and elbow seemed to developcentipedic power; his head was a mere clump of growing stuff. He snakedhis way quietly for twenty-five yards, then came to the open, slopingshore, with the river forty yards wide of level shining ice, all inplain view of the deer; how was this to be covered?

There is a well-known peculiarity of the white tail that the Indian wascounting on; when its head is down grazing, even though not hidden, thedeer does not see distant objects; before the head is raised, its tailis raised or shaken. Quonab knew that if he could keep the tail in view, he could avoid being viewed by the head. In a word, only an ill-timedmovement or a whiff could betray him. 

The open ice was, of course, a hard test, and the hunter might havefailed, but that his long form looked like one of the logs that werelying about half stranded or frozen in the stream. 

Watching ever the alert head and tail, he timed his approach, workinghard and moving East when the head was down; but when warned by atail-jerk he turned to a log nor moved a muscle. Once the ice wascrossed, the danger of being seen was less, but of being smelt wasgreater, for the deer was moving about, and Quonab watched the smokefrom the cabin for knowledge of the wind. So he came within fifty yards, and the buck, still sniffing along and eagerly champing the few redcranberries it found above the frozen moss, was working toward asomewhat higher cover. The herbage was now fully eighteen inches high, and Quonab moved a little faster. The buck found a large patch ofberries under a tussock and dropped on its knees to pick them out, whileQuonab saw the chance and gained ten yards before the tail gave warning. After so long a feeding-spell, the buck took an extra long lookout, and then walked toward the timber, whereby the Indian lost all he hadgained. But the browser's eye was drawn by a shining bunch of red, thenanother; and now the buck swung until there was danger of betrayal bythe wind; then down went its head and Quonab retreated ten yards to keepthe windward. Once the buck raised its muzzle and sniffed with flaringnostrils, as though its ancient friend had brought a warning. But soonhe seemed reassured, for the landscape showed no foe, and nosed back andforth, while Quonab regained the yards he had lost. The buck worked nowto the taller cover, and again a tempting bunch of berries under a low, dense bush caused it to kneel for farther under-reaching. Quonab glidedswiftly forward, reached the twenty-five-yard limit, rose to one knee, bent the stark cedar bow. Rolf saw the buck bound in air, then make forthe wood with great, high leaps; the dash of disappointment was on him, but Quonab stood erect, with right hand raised, and shouted:

"Ho--ho. "

He knew that those bounds were unnecessarily high, and before the woodshad swallowed up the buck, it fell--rose--and fell again, to rise not. The arrow had pierced its heart. 

Then Rolf rushed up with kindled eye and exultant pride to slap hisfriend on the back, and exclaim:

"I never thought it possible; the greatest feat in hunting I ever saw;you are a wonder!"

To which the Indian softly replied, as he smiled:

"Ho! it was so I got eleven British sentries in the war. They gave me amedal with Washington's head. "

"They did! how is it I never heard of it? Where is it?"

The Indian's face darkened. "I threw it after the ship that stole myGamowini. "

Chapter 67. Rolf Meets a Canuck

The winter might have been considered eventful, had not so many of theevents been repetitions of former experience. But there were severalthat by their newness deserve a place on these pages, as they did inRolf's memory. 

One of them happened soon after the first sharp frost. It had been anautumn of little rain, so that many ponds had dried up, with theresult that hundreds of muskrats were forced out to seek more habitablequarters. The first time Rolf saw one of these stranded mariners on itsoverland journey, he gave heedless chase. At first it made awkward hasteto escape; then a second muskrat was discovered just ahead, and a third. This added to Rolf's interest. In a few bounds he was among them, but itwas to get a surprise. Finding themselves overtaken, the muskrats turnedin desperation and attacked the common enemy with courage and fury. Rolfleaped over the first, but the second sprang, caught him by the slackof the trouser leg, and hung on. The third flung itself on his foot anddrove its sharp teeth through the moccasin. Quickly the first ralliedand sprang on his other leg with all the force of its puny paws, andpowerful jaws. 

Meanwhile Quonab was laughing aloud and holding back Skookum, who, breathing fire and slaughter, was mad to be in the fight. 

"Ho! a good fight! good musquas! Ho, Skookum, you must not always takecare of him, or he will not learn to go alone. 

"Ugh, good!" as the third muskrat gripped Rolf by the calf. 

There could be but one finish, and that not long delayed. A well-placedkick on one, the second swung by the tail, the third crushed underhis heel, and the affair ended. Rolf had three muskrats and five cuts. Quonab had much joy and Skookum a sense of lost opportunity. 

"This we should paint on the wigwam, " said Quonab. "Three great warriorsattacked one Sagamore. They were very brave, but he was Nibowaka andvery strong; he struck them down as the Thunderbird, Hurakan, strikesthe dead pines the fire has left on the hilltop against the sky. Nowshall you eat their hearts, for they were brave. My father told me afighting muskrat's heart is great medicine; for he seeks peace while itis possible, then he turns and fights without fear. "

A few days later, they sighted a fox. In order to have a joke onSkookum, they put him on its track, and away he went, letting off hisjoy-whoops at every jump. The men sat down to wait, knowing full wellthat after an hour Skookum would come back with a long tongue and anair of depression. But they were favoured with an unexpected view ofthe chase. It showed a fox bounding over the snow, and not twenty yardsbehind was their energetic four-legged colleague. 

And, still more unexpected, the fox was overtaken in the next thicket, shaken to limpness, and dragged to be dropped at Quonab's feet. This glorious victory by Skookum was less surprising, when a closerexamination showed that the fox had been in a bad way. Through some sad, sudden indiscretion, he had tackled a porcupine and paid the penalty. His mouth, jaws and face, neck and legs, were bristling with quills. Hewas sick and emaciated. He could not have lasted many days longer, andSkookum's summary lynching was a blessing in disguise. 

The trappers' usual routine was varied by a more important happening. One day of deep snow in January, when they were running the northernline on Racquet River, they camped for the night at their sheltercabin, and were somewhat surprised at dusk to hear a loud challenge fromSkookum replied to by a human voice, and a short man with black whiskersappeared. He raised one hand in token of friendliness and was invited tocome in. 

He was a French Canadian from La Colle Mills. He had trapped here forsome years. The almost certainty of war between Canada and the Stateshad kept his usual companions away. So he had trapped alone, always adangerous business, and had gathered a lot of good fur, but had fallenon the ice and hurt himself inwardly, so that he had no strength. Hecould tramp out on snowshoes, but could not carry his pack of furs. Hehad long known that he had neighbours on the south; the camp fire smokeproved that, and he had come now to offer all his furs for sale. 

Quonab shook his head, but Rolf said, "We'll come over and see them. "

A two-hours' tramp in the morning brought them to the Frenchman's cabin. He opened out his furs; several otter, many sable, some lynx, overthirty beaver--the whole lot for two hundred dollars. At Lyons Fallsthey were worth double that. 

Rolf saw a chance for a bargain. He whispered, "We can double our moneyon it, Quonab. What do ye say?"

The reply was simply, "Ugh! you are Nibowaka. "

"We'll take your offer, if we can fix it up about payment, for I have nomoney with me and barely two hundred dollars at the cabin. "

"You half tabac and grosairs?"

"Yes, plenty. "

"You can go 'get 'em? Si?"

Rolf paused, looked down, then straight at the Frenchman. 

"Will you trust me to take half the fur now; when I come back with thepay I can get the rest. "

The Frenchman looked puzzled, then, "By Gar you look de good look. I letum go. I tink you pretty good fellow, parbleu!"

So Rolf marched away with half the furs and four days later he was backand paid the pale-faced but happy Frenchman the one hundred and fiftydollars he had received from Van Cortlandt, with other bills making onehundred and ninety-five dollars and with groceries and tobacco enough tosatisfy the trapper. The Frenchman proved a most amiable character. He and Rolf took to each other greatly, and when they shook hands atparting, it was in the hope of an early and happier meeting. 

Francois la Colle turned bravely for the ninety-mile tramp over the snowto his home, while Rolf went south with the furs that were to provea most profitable investment, shaping his life in several ways, andindirectly indeed of saving it on one occasion. 

Chapter 68. War

Eighteen hundred and twelve had passed away. President Madison, drivenby wrongs to his countrymen and indignities that no nation should meeklyaccept, had in the midsummer declared war on Great Britain. Unfitted tocope with the situation and surrounded by unfit counsellors, his littlearmy of heroic men led by unfit commanders had suffered one reverseafter another. 

The loss of Fort Mackinaw, Chicago, Detroit, Brownstown, and the totaldestruction of the American army that attacked Queenstown were butpoorly offset by the victory at Niagara and the successful defence ofOgdensburg. 

Rolf and Quonab had repaired to Albany as arranged, but they left itas United States scouts, not as guides to the four young sportsmen whowished to hark back to the primitive. 

Their first commission had been the bearing of despatches to Plattsburg. 

With a selected light canoe and a minimum of baggage they reachedTiconderoga in two days, and there renewed their acquaintancewith General Hampton, who was fussing about, and digging uselessentrenchments as though he expected a mighty siege. Rolf was calledbefore him to receive other despatches for Colonel Pike at Plattsburg. He got the papers and learned their destination, then immediately made asad mistake. "Excuse me, sir, " he began, "if I meet with--"

"Young man, " said the general, severely, "I don't want any of your 'ifs'or 'buts'; your orders are 'go. ' 'How' and 'if' are matters for you tofind out; that's what you are paid for. "

Rolf bowed; his cheeks were tingling. He was very angry at what hethought a most uncalled for rebuke, but he got over it, and he neverforgot the lesson. It was Si Sylvanne that put it into rememberableform. 

"A fool horse kin follow a turnpike, but it takes a man with wits toclimb, swim, boat, skate, run, hide, go it blind, pick a lock, take thelong way, round, when it's the short way across, run away at the righttime, or fight when it's wise--all in one afternoon. " Rolf set out forthe north carrying a bombastic (meant to be reassuring) message fromHampton that he would annihilate any enemy who dared to desecrate thewaters of the lake. 

It was on this trip that Rolf learned from Quonab the details of thelatter's visit to his people on the St. Regis. Apparently the joy ofmeeting a few of his own kin, with whom he could talk his own language, was offset by meeting with a large number of his ancient enemies theMohawks. There had been much discussion of the possible war between theBritish and the Yankees. The Mohawks announced their intention to fightfor the British, which was a sufficient reason for Quonab as a Sinawaremaining with the Americans; and when he left the St. Regis reserve theIndian was without any desire to reenter it. 

At Plattsburg Rolf and Quonab met with another Albany acquaintance inGeneral Wilkinson, and from him received despatches which they broughtback to Albany, having covered the whole distance in eight days. 

When 1812 was gone Rolf had done little but carry despatches up and downLake Champlain. Next season found the Americans still under command ofGenerals Wilkinson and Hampton, whose utter incompetence was becomingdaily more evident. 

The year 1813 saw Rolf, eighteen years old and six feet one in hissocks, a trained scout and despatch bearer. 

By a flying trip on snowshoes in January he took letters, from GeneralHampton at Ticonderoga to Sackett's Harbour and back in eight days, nearly three hundred miles. It made him famous as a runner, but thetidings that he brought were sad. Through him they learned in detail ofthe total defeat and capture of the American army at Frenchtown. After abrief rest he was sent across country on snowshoes to bear a reassuringmessage to Ogdensburg. The weather was much colder now, and the singleblanket bed was dangerously slight; so "Flying Kittering, " as they namedhim, took a toboggan and secured Quonab as his running mate. Skookumwas given into safe keeping. Blankets, pots, cups, food, guns, anddespatches were strapped on the toboggan, and they sped away at dawnfrom Ticonderoga on the 18th of February 1813, headed northwestward, guided by little but the compass. Thirty miles that day they made inspite of piercing blasts and driving snow. But with the night therebegan a terrible storm with winds of zero chill. The air was filledwith stinging, cutting snow. When they rose at daylight they were nearlyburied in drifts, although their camp was in a dense, sheltered thicket. Guided wholly by the compass they travelled again, but blinded by thewhirling white they stumbled and blundered into endless difficultiesand made but poor headway. After dragging the toboggan for three hours, taking turns at breaking the way, they were changing places when Rolfnoticed a large gray patch on Quonab's cheek and nose. 

"Quonab, your face is frozen, " he said. 

"So is yours, " was the reply. 

Now they turned aside, followed a hollow until they reached a sprucegrove, where they camped and took an observation, to learn that thecompass and they held widely different views about the direction oftravel. It was obviously useless to face the storm. They rubbed outtheir frozen features with dry snow and rested by the fire. 

No good scout seeks for hardship; he avoids the unnecessary trial ofstrength and saves himself for the unavoidable. With zero weather aboutthem and twenty-four hours to wait in the storm, the scouts set aboutmaking themselves thoroughly comfortable. 

With their snowshoes they dug away the snow in a circle a dozen feetacross, piling it up on the outside so as to make that as high aspossible. When they were down to the ground, the wall of snow aroundthem was five feet high. Now they went forth with the hatchets, cut manysmall spruces, and piled them against the living spruces about the camptill there was a dense mass of evergreen foliage ten feet high aroundthem, open only at the top, where was a space five feet across. Withabundance of dry spruce wood, a thick bed of balsam boughs, and plentyof blankets they were in what most woodmen consider comfort complete. 

They had nothing to do now but wait. Quonab sat placidly smoking, Rolfwas sewing a rent in his coat, the storm hissed, and the wind-driven iceneedles rattled through the trees to vary the crackle of the fire with a"siss" as they fell on the embers. The low monotony of sound was lullingin its evenness, when a faint crunch of a foot on the snow was heard. Rolf reached for his gun, the fir tree screen was shaken a little, and aminute later there bounded in upon them the snow covered form of littledog Skookum, expressing his good-will by excessive sign talk in whichevery limb and member had a part. They had left him behind, indeed, butnot with his consent, so the bargain was incomplete. 

There was no need to ask now, What shall we do with him? Skookum hadsettled that, and why or how he never attempted to explain. 

He was wise who made it law that "as was his share who went forth tobattle, so shall his be that abode with the stuff, " for the hardest ofall is the waiting. In the morning there was less doing in the elementalstrife. There were even occasional periods of calm and at length it grewso light that surely the veil was breaking. 

Quonab returned from a brief reconnoitre to say, "Ugh!--good going. "

The clouds were broken and flying, the sun came out at times, but thewind was high, the cold intense, and the snow still drifting. PoorSkookum had it harder than the men, for they wore snowshoes; but he kepthis troubles to himself and bravely trudged along behind. Had he beencapable of such reflection he might have said, "What delightful weather, it keeps the fleas so quiet. "

That day there was little to note but the intense cold, and again bothmen had their cheeks frost-bitten on the north side. A nook under anoverhanging rock gave a good camp that night. Next day the bad weatherresumed, but, anxious to push on they faced it, guided chiefly by thewind. It was northwest, and as long as they felt this fierce, burningcold mercilessly gnawing on their hapless tender right cheek bones, theyknew they were keeping their proper main course. 

They were glad indeed to rest at dusk and thaw their frozen faces. Nextday at dawn they were off; at first it was calm, but the surging of thesnow waves soon began again, and the air was filled with the spray oftheir lashing till it was hard to see fifty yards in any direction. Theywere making very bad time. The fourth day should have brought them toOgdensburg, but they were still far off; how far they could only guess, for they had not come across a house or a settler. 

Chapter 69. Ogdensburg

The same blizzard was raging on the next day when Skookum gaveunequivocal sign talk that he smelled something. 

It is always well to find out what stirs your dog. Quonab looked hard atSkookum. That sagacious mongrel was sniffing vigorously, up in the air, not on the ground; his mane was not bristling, and the patch of darkhair that every gray or yellow dog has at the base of his tail, was notlifted. 

"He smells smoke, " was the Indian's quick diagnosis. Rolf pointed Up thewind and made the sign-talk query. Quonab nodded. 

It was their obvious duty to find out who was their smoky neighbour. They were now not so far from the St. Lawrence; there was a small chanceof the smoke being from a party of the enemy; there was a large chanceof it being from friends; and the largest chance was that it came fromsome settler's cabin where they could get necessary guidance. 

They turned aside. The wind now, instead of on the right cheek, wassquare in their faces. Rolf went forward increasing his pace till he wasas far ahead as was possible without being out of sight. After a miletheir way led downward, the timber was thicker, the wind less, and theair no more befogged with flying snow. Rolf came to a long, deep trenchthat wound among the trees; the snow at the bottom of it was very hard. This was what he expected; the trail muffled under new, soft snow, butstill a fresh trail and leading to the camp that Skookum had winded. 

He turned and made the sign for them to halt and wait. Then strodecautiously along the winding guide line. 

In twenty minutes the indications of a settlement increased, and thescout at length was peering from the woods across the open down to abroad stream on whose bank was a saw mill, with the usual wilderness oframshackle shanties, sheds, and lumber piles about. 

There was no work going on, which was a puzzle till Rolf rememberedit was Sunday. He went boldly up and asked for the boss. His wholeappearance was that of a hunter and as such the boss received him. 

He was coming through from the other side and had missed his way in thestorm, he explained. 

"What are ye by trade?"

"A trapper. "

"Where are ye bound now?"

"Well, I'll head for the nearest big settlement, whatever that is. "

"It's just above an even thing between Alexandria Bay and Ogdensburg. "

So Rolf inquired fully about the trail to Alexandria Bay that he did notwant to go to. Why should he be so careful? The mill owner was clearlya good American, but the scout had no right to let any outsider know hisbusiness. This mill owner might be safe, but he might be unwise and blabto some one who was not all right. 

Then in a casual way he learned that this was the Oswegatchie River andthirty miles down he would find the town of Ogdensburg. 

No great recent events did he hear of, but evidently the Britishtroops across the river were only awaiting the springtime before takingoffensive measures. 

For the looks of it, Rolf bought some tea and pork, but the hospitablemill man refused to take payment and, leaving in the direction ofAlexandria Bay, Rolf presently circled back and rejoined his friends inthe woods. 

A long detour took them past the mill. It was too cold for outdooridling. Every window was curtained with frost, and not a soul saw themas they tramped along past the place and down to continue on the ice ofthe Oswegatchie. 

Pounded by the ceaseless wind, the snow on the ice was harder, travelwas easier, and the same tireless blizzard wiped out the trail as soonas it was behind them. 

Crooked is the river trail, but good the footing, and good time wasmade. When there was a north reach, the snow was extra hard or the iceclear and the scouts slipped off their snow shoes, and trotted at a goodsix-mile gait. Three times they halted for tea and rest, but the factthat they were the bearers of precious despatches, the bringers ofinspiring good news, and their goal ever nearer, spurred them on andon. It was ten o'clock that morning when they left the mill, some thirtymiles from Ogdensburg. It was now near sundown, but still they figuredthat by an effort they could reach the goal that night. It was theirbest day's travel, but they were nerved to it by the sense of triumph asthey trotted; and the prospective joy of marching up to the commandantand handing over the eagerly looked for, reassuring documents, gavethem new strength and ambition. Yes! they must push on at any price thatnight. Day was over now; Rolf was leading at a steady trot. In his handhe held the long trace of his toboggan, ten feet behind was Quonab withthe short trace, while Skookum trotted before, beside, or behind, as wasdictated by his general sense of responsibility. 

It was quite dark now. There was no moon, the wooded shore was black. Their only guide was the broad, wide reach of the river, sometimes sweptbare of snow by the wind, but good travelling at all times. They weretrotting and walking in spells, going five miles an hour; Quonab wassuffering, but Rolf was young and eager to finish. They rounded anotherreach, they were now on the last big bend, they were reeling off themiles; only ten more, and Rolf was so stirred that, instead of droppingto the usual walk on signal at the next one hundred yards spell, headded to his trot. Quonab, taken unawares, slipped and lost his hold ofthe trace. Rolf shot ahead and a moment later there was the crash of abreaking air-hole, and Rolf went through the ice, clutched at the brokenedge and disappeared, while the toboggan was dragged to the hole. 

Quonab sprung to his feet, and then to the lower side of the hole. The toboggan had swung to the same place and the long trace was tight;without a moment's delay the Indian hauled at it steadily, heavily, andin a few seconds the head of his companion reappeared; still clutchingthat long trace he was safely dragged from the ice-cold flood, blowingand gasping, shivering and sopping, but otherwise unhurt. 

Now here a new danger presented itself. The zero wind would soon turnhis clothes to boards. They stiffened in a few minutes, and the Indianknew that frozen hands and feet were all too easy in frozen clothes. 

He made at once for the shore, and, seeking the heart of a sprucethicket, lost no time in building two roaring fires between which Rolfstood while the Indian made the bed, in which, as soon as he could bestripped, the lad was glad to hide. Warm tea and warm blankets madehim warm, but it would take an hour or two to dry his clothes. There isnothing more damaging than drying them too quickly. Quonab made racks ofpoles and spent the next two hours in regulating the fire, watching theclothes, and working the moccasins. 

It was midnight when they were ready and any question of going on atonce was settled by Quonab. "Ogdensburg is under arms, " he said. "It isnot wise to approach by night. "

At six in the morning they were once more going, stiff with travel, sore-footed, face-frozen, and chafed by delay; but, swift and keen, trotting and walking, they went. They passed several settlements, butavoided them. At seven-thirty they had a distant glimpse of Ogdensburgand heard the inspiring roll of drums, and a few minutes later fromthe top of a hill they had a complete view of the heroic little town tosee--yes! plainly enough--that the British flag was flying from the flagpole. 

Chapter 70. Saving the Despatches

Oh, the sickening shock of it! Rolf did not know till now how tired hewas, how eager to deliver the heartening message, and to relax a littlefrom the strain. He felt weak through and through. There could be nodoubt that a disaster had befallen his country's arms. 

His first care was to get out of sight with his sled and those preciousdespatches. 

Now what should he do? Nothing till he had fuller information. He sentQuonab back with the sled, instructing him to go to a certain place twomiles off, there camp out of sight and wait. 

Then he went in alone. Again and again he was stung by the thought, "IfI had come sooner they might have held out. "

A number of teams gathered at the largest of a group of houses on thebank suggested a tavern. He went in and found many men sitting downto breakfast. He had no need to ask questions. It was the talk of thetable. Ogdensburg had been captured the day before. The story is wellknown. Colonel MacDonnell with his Glengarry Highlanders at Prescottwent to drill daily on the ice of the St. Lawrence opposite Ogdensburg. Sometimes they marched past just out of range, sometimes they chargedand wheeled before coming too near. The few Americans that held theplace watched these harmless exercises and often cheered some clevermanceuvre. They felt quite safe behind their fortification. By anunwritten agreement both parties refrained from firing random shots ateach other. There was little to suggest enemies entrenched; indeed, manymen in each party had friends in the other, and the British had severaltimes trotted past within easy range, without provoking a shot. 

On February 22d, the day when Rolf and Quonab struck the Oswegatchie, the British colonel directed his men as usual, swinging them ever nearerthe American fort, and then, at the nearest point, executed a verypretty charge. The Americans watched it as it neared, but instead ofwheeling at the brink the little army scrambled up with merry shouts, and before the garrison could realize that this was war, they wereoverpowered and Ogdensburg was taken. 

The American commander was captured. Captain Forsyth, the second incommand, had been off on a snowshoe trip, so had escaped. All therest were prisoners, and what to do with the despatches or how to getofficial instructions was now a deep problem. "When you don't know athing to do, don't do a thing, " was one of Si Sylvanne's axioms; also, "In case of doubt lay low and say nothing. " Rolf hung around the townall day waiting for light. About noon a tall, straight, alert man in abuffalo coat drove up with a cutter. He had a hasty meal in an insideroom. Rolf sized him up for an American officer, but there was apossibility of his being a Canadian. Rolf tried in vain to get light onhim but the inner door was kept closed; the landlord was evidently inthe secret. When he came out he was again swaddled in the buffalo coat. Rolf brushed past him--here was something hard and long in the rightpocket of the big coat. 

The landlord, the guest, and the driver had a whispered conference. Rolf went as near as he dared, but got only a searching look. The driverspoke to another driver and Rolf heard the words "Black Lake. " Yes, that was what he suspected. Black Lake was on the inland sleigh route toAlexandria Bay and Sackett's Harbour. 

The driver, a fresh young fellow, was evidently interested in thelandlord's daughter; the stranger was talking with the landlord. As soonas they had parted, Rolf went to the latter and remarked quietly: "Thecaptain is in a hurry. " The only reply was a cold look and: "Guessthat's his business. " So it was the captain. The driver's mitts were onthe line back of the stove. Rolf shook them so that they fell in a darkcorner. The driver missed his mitts, and glad of a chance went back in, leaving the officer alone. "Captain Forsyth, " whispered Rolf, "don't gotill I have talked with you. I'll meet you a mile down the road. "

"Who are you and what do you want?" was the curt and hostile reply, evidently admitting the identification correct however. 

Rolf opened his coat and showed his scout badge. 

"Why not talk now if you have any news--come in side. " So the two wentto the inner room. "Who is this?" asked Rolf cautiously as the landlordcame in. 

"He's all right. This is Titus Flack, the landlord. "

"How am I to know that?"

"Haven't you heard him called by name all day?" said the captain. 

Flack smiled, went out and returned with his license to sell liquor, andhis commission as a magistrate of New York State. The latter bore hisown signature. He took a pen and reproduced it. Now the captain threwback his overcoat and stood in the full uniform of an army officer. He opened his satchel and took out a paper, but Rolf caught sight ofanother packet addressed to General Hampton. The small one was merely amap. "I think that packet in there is meant for me, " remarked Rolf. 

"We haven't seen your credentials yet, " said the officer. "I have themtwo miles back there, " and Rolf pointed to the woods. 

"Let's go, " said the captain and they arose. Kittering had a way ofinspiring confidence, but in the short, silent ride of two miles thecaptain began to have his doubts. The scout badge might have beenstolen; Canadians often pass for Americans, etc. At length they stoppedthe sleigh, and Rolf led into the woods. Before a hundred yards theofficer said, "Stop, " and Rolf stopped to find a pistol pointed at hishead. "Now, young fellow, you've played it pretty slick, and I don'tknow yet what to make of it. But I know this; at the very first sign oftreachery I'll blow your brains out anyway. " It gave Rolf a jolt. Thiswas the first time he had looked down a pistol barrel levelled at him. He used to think a pistol a little thing, an inch through and a footlong, but he found now it seemed as big as a flour barrel and longenough to reach eternity. He changed colour but quickly recovered, smiled, and said: "Don't worry; in five minutes you will know it's allright. "

Very soon a sharp bark was heard in challenge, and the two stepped intocamp to meet Quonab and little dog Skookum. 

"Doesn't look much like a trap, " thought the captain after he had casthis eyes about and made sure that no other person was in the camp; thenaloud, "Now what have you to show me?"

"Excuse me, captain, but how am I to know you are Captain Forsyth? It ispossible for a couple of spies to give all the proof you two gave me. "

The captain opened his bag and showed first his instructions givenbefore he left Ogdensburg four days ago; he bared his arm and showed atattooed U. S. A. , a relic of Academy days, then his linen marked J. F. , and a signet ring with similar initials, and last the great packet ofpapers addressed to General Hampton. Then he said: "When you hand overyour despatches to me I will give mine to you and we shall have goodguarantee each of the other. "

Rolf rose, produced his bundle of papers, and exchanged them for thoseheld by Forsyth; each felt that the other was safe. They soon grewfriendly, and Rolf heard of some stirring doings on the lake andpreparations for a great campaign in the spring. 

After half an hour the tall, handsome captain left them and strode away, a picture of manly vigour. Three hours later they were preparing theirevening meal when Skookum gave notice of a stranger approaching. Thiswas time of war; Rolf held his rifle ready, and a moment later in burstthe young man who had been Captain Forsyth's driver. 

His face was white; blood dripped from his left arm, and in his otherhand was the despatch bag. He glanced keenly at Rolf. "Are you GeneralHampton's scout?" Rolf nodded and showed the badge on his breast. "Captain Forsyth sent this back, " he gasped. "His last words were, 'Burnthe despatches rather than let the British get them. ' They got him--aforaging party--there was a spy at the hotel. I got away, but my tracksare easy to follow unless it drifts. Don't wait. "

Poor boy, his arm was broken, but he carried out the dead officer'scommand, then left them to seek for relief in the settlement. 

Night was near, but Rolf broke camp at once and started eastward withthe double packet. He did not know it then, but learned afterward thatthese despatches made clear the weakness of Oswego, Rochester, andSackett's Harbour, their urgent need of help, and gave the whole planfor an American counter attack on Montreal. But he knew they werevaluable, and they must at once be taken to General Hampton. 

It was rough, hard going in the thick woods and swamps away from theriver, for he did not dare take the ice route now, but they pushed onfor three hours, then, in the gloom, made a miserable camp in a cedarswamp. 

At dawn they were off again. To their disgust the weather now was deadcalm; there was no drift to hide their tracks; the trail was as plain asa highway wherever they went. They came to a beaten road, followed thatfor half a mile, then struck off on the true line. But they had no ideathat they were followed until, after an hour of travel, the sun came upand on a far distant slope, full two miles away, they saw a thin blackline of many spots, at least a dozen British soldiers in pursuit. 

The enemy was on snowshoes, and without baggage evidently, for theytravelled fast. Rolf and Quonab burdened with the sled were makinga losing race. But they pushed on as fast as possible--toiling andsweating at that precious load. Rolf was pondering whether the time hadnot yet come to stop and burn the packet, when, glancing back from ahigh ridge that gave an outlook, he glimpsed a row of heads that droppedbehind some rocks half a mile away, and a scheme came into his mind. Hemarched boldly across the twenty feet opening that was in the enemy'sview, dropped behind the spruce thickets, called Quonab to follow, ranaround the thicket, and again crossed the open view. So he and Quonabcontinued for five minutes, as fast as they could go, knowing perfectlywell that they were watched. Round and round that bush they went, sometimes close together, carrying the guns, sometimes dragging thesled, sometimes with blankets on their shoulders, sometimes with a shortbag or even a large cake of snow on their backs. They did everythingthey could to vary the scene, and before five minutes the Britishofficer in charge had counted fifty-six armed Americans marching insingle file up the bank with ample stores, accompanied by five yellowdogs. Had Skookum been allowed to carry out his ideas, there would havebeen fifty or sixty yellow dogs, so thoroughly did he enter into thespirit of the game. 

The track gave no hint of such a troop, but of course not, how could it?since the toboggan left all smooth after they had passed, or maybe thiswas a reinforcement arriving. What could he do with his ten men againstfifty of the enemy? He thanked his stars that he had so cleverly evadedthe trap, and without further attempt to gauge the enemy's strength, heturned and made all possible haste back to the shelter of Ogdensburg. 

Chapter 71. Sackett's Harbour

It was hours before Rolf was sure that he had stopped the pursuit, andthe thing that finally set his mind at rest was the rising wind thatsoon was a raging and drifting snow storm. "Oh, blessed storm!" he saidin his heart, as he marked all trail disappear within a few secondsof its being made. And he thought: "How I cursed the wind that held meback--really from being made prisoner. How vexed I was at that duckingin the river, that really saved my despatches from the enemy. Howthankful I am now for the storm that a little while back seemed sobitterly cruel. "

That forenoon they struck the big bend of the river and now did nothesitate to use the easy travel on the ice as far as Rensselaer Falls, where, having got their bearings from a settler, they struck across thecountry through the storm, and at night were encamped some forty milesfrom Ogdensburg. 

Marvellously few signs of game had they seen in this hard trip;everything that could hide away was avoiding the weather. But in a cedarbottom land near Cranberry Lake they found a "yard" that seemed to bethe winter home of hundreds of deer. It extended two or three miles oneway a half a mile the other; in spite of the deep snow this was nearlyall in beaten paths. The scouts saw at least fifty deer in goingthrough, so, of course, had no difficulty in selecting a young buck fortable use. 

The going from there on was of little interest. It was the same olddaily battle with the frost, but less rigorous than before, for now thecold winds were behind, and on the 27th of February, nine days afterleaving, they trotted into Ticonderoga and reported at the commandant'sheadquarters. 

The general was still digging entrenchments and threatening toannihilate all Canada. But the contents of the despatches gave him newtopics for thought and speech. The part he must play in the proposeddescent on Montreal was flattering, but it made the Ticonderogaentrenchments ridiculous. 

For three days Rolf was kept cutting wood, then he went with despatchesto Albany. 

Many minor labours, from hog-killing to stable-cleaning and trenching, varied the month of March. Then came the uncertain time of April whenit was neither canoeing nor snow-shoeing and all communication from thenorth was cut off. 

But May, great, glorious May came on, with its inspiring airs andlivening influence. Canoes were afloat, the woods were brown beneath andgold above. 

Rolf felt like a young stag in his strength. He was spoiling for a runand volunteered eagerly to carry despatches to Sackett's Harbour. Hewould go alone, for now one blanket was sufficient bed, and a couple ofpounds of dry meat was enough food for each day. A small hatchet wouldbe useful, but his rifle seemed too heavy to carry; as he halted indoubt, a junior officer offered him a pistol instead, and he gladlystuck it in his belt. 

Taller than ever, considerably over six feet now, somewhat lanky, butsupple of joint and square of shoulder, he strode with the easy strideof a strong traveller. His colour was up, his blue-gray eyes ablazeas he took the long trail in a crow line across country for Sackett'sHarbour. The sentry saluted, and the officer of the day, struck by hisfigure and his glowing face as much as by the nature of his errand, stopped to shake hands and say, "Well, good luck, Kittering, and may youbring us better news than the last two times. "

Rolf knew how to travel now; he began softly. At a long, easy stride hewent for half an hour, then at a swinging trot for a mile or two. Fivemiles an hour he could make, but there was one great obstacle to speedat this season--every stream was at flood, all were difficult to cross. The brooks he could wade or sometimes could fell a tree across them, butthe rivers were too wide to bridge, too cold and dangerous to swim. Innearly every case he had to make a raft. A good scout takes no chances. A slight raft means a risky passage; a good one, a safe crossing butloss of time in preparations. Fifteen good rafts did Rolf make in thatcross-country journey of three days: dry spruce logs he found each timeand bound them together with leather-wood and withes of willow. It meanta delay of at least an hour each time; that is five hours each day. Butthe time was wisely spent. The days were lengthening; he could travelmuch at dusk. Soon he was among settlements. Rumours he got at asettler's cabin of Sir George Prevost's attack on Sackett's Harbour andthe gallant repulse and at morning of the fourth day he came on the hillabove Sackett's Harbour--the same hill where he had stood three monthsbefore. It was with something like a clutching of his breath that hegazed; his past experiences suggested dreadful thoughts but no--thankGod, "Old Glory" floated from the pole. He identified himself to thesentinels and the guard, entered the fort at a trot, and reported atheadquarters. 

There was joy on every side. At last the tide had turned. CommodoreChauncey, after sweeping Lake Ontario, had made a sudden descent on York(Toronto now) the capital of Upper Canada, had seized and destroyedit. Sir George Prevost, taking advantage of Chauncey's being away, hadattacked Sackett's Harbour, but, in spite of the absence of the fleet, the resistance had been so vigorous that in a few days the siege wasabandoned. 

There were shot holes in walls and roofs, there were a few woundedin the hospital, the green embankments were torn, and the flag-polesplintered; but the enemy was gone, the starry flag was floating on thewind, and the sturdy little garrison filled with a spirit that growsonly in heroes fighting for their homes. 

How joyfully different from Ogdensburg. 

Chapter 72. Scouting Across Country

That very night, Rolf turned again with the latest news and thecommandant's reports. 

He was learning the country well now, and, with the wonderfulplace-memory of a woodman, he was able to follow his exact back trail. It might not have been the best way, but it gave him this advantage--innearly every case he was able to use again the raft he had made incoming, and thereby saved many hours of precious time. 

On the way out he had seen a good many deer and one bear, and had heardthe howling of wolves every night; but always at a distance. On thesecond night, in the very heart of the wilderness, the wolves were noisyand seemed very near. Rolf was camping in the darkness. He made a smallfire with such stuff as he could find by groping, then, when the fireblazed, he discovered by its light a dead spruce some twenty yards away. Taking his hatchet he went toward this, and, as he did so, a wolf roseup, with its forefeet on a log, only five yards beyond the tree andgazed curiously at him. Others were heard calling; presently this wolfraised its muzzle and uttered a long smooth howl. 

Rolf had left his pistol back at the fire; he dared not throw hishatchet, as that would have left him unarmed. He stooped, picked up astick, and threw that; the wolf ducked so that it passed over, then, stepping back from the log, stood gazing without obvious fear or menace. The others were howling; Rolf felt afraid. He backed cautiously to thefire, got his pistol and came again to the place, but nothing more didhe see of the wolf, though he heard them all night and kept up two greatfires for a protection. 

In the morning he started as usual, and before half an hour he was awareof a wolf, and later of two, trotting along his trail, a few hundredyards behind. They did not try to overtake him; indeed, when he stopped, they did the same; and when he trotted, they, true to their dog-likenature, ran more rapidly in pursuit. How Rolf did wish for his longrifle; but they gave no opportunity for a shot with the pistol. Theyacted, indeed, as though they knew their safe distance and the exactrange of the junior gun. The scout made a trap for them by stealing backafter he had crossed a ridge, and hiding near his own trail. But thewind conveyed a warning, and the wolves merely sat down and waitedtill he came out and went on. All day long these two strange ban dogsfollowed him and gave no sign of hunger or malice; then, after hecrossed a river, at three in the afternoon, he saw no more of them. Years after, when Rolf knew them better, he believed they followed himout of mild curiosity, or possibly in the hope that he would kill a deerin which they might share. And when they left him, it was because theywere near the edge of their own home region; they had seen him off theirhunting grounds. 

That night he camped sixty miles from Ticonderoga, but he was resolvedto cover the distance in one day. Had he not promised to be back in aweek? The older hands had shaken their heads incredulously, and he, inthe pride of his legs, was determined to be as good as his promise. Hescarcely dared sleep lest he should oversleep. At ten he lay down. Ateleven the moon was due to rise; as soon as that was three hours highthere would be light enough, and he proposed to go on. At least halfa dozen times he woke with a start, fearing he had overslept, butreassured by a glance at the low-hung moon, he had slumbered again. 

At last the moon was four hours high, and the woods were plain in thesoft light. A horned owl "hoo-hoo-ed, " and a far-off wolf uttereda drawn-out, soft, melancholy cry, as Rolf finished his dried meat, tightened his belt, and set out on a long, hard run that, in the days ofGreece, would have furnished the theme of many a noble epic poem. 

No need to consult his compass. The blazing lamp of the dark sky was hisguide, straight east his course, varied a little by hills and lakes, butnearly the crow-flight line. At first his pace was a steady, swingingstride; then after a mile he came to an open lake shore down which hewent at a six-mile trot; and then an alder thicket through which hisprogress was very slow; but that soon passed, and for half a mile hesplashed through swamps with water a foot deep: nor was he surprisedat length to see it open into a little lake with a dozen beaver huts inview. "Splash, prong" their builders went at his approach, but he madefor the hillside; the woods were open, the moonlight brilliant now, andhere he trotted at full swing as long as the way was level or down, but always walked on the uphill. A sudden noise ahead was followed bya tremendous crashing and crackling of the brush. For a moment itcontinued, and what it meant, Rolf never knew or guessed. 

"Trot, trot, " he went, reeling off six miles in the open, two or perhapsthree in the thickets, but on and on, ever eastward. Hill after hill, swamp after swamp, he crossed, lake after lake he skirted round, and, when he reached some little stream, he sought a log bridge or proddedwith a pole till he found a ford and crossed, then ran a mile or two tomake up loss of time. 

Tramp, tramp, tramp, and his steady breath and his steady heart keptunremitting rhythm. 

Chapter 73. Rolf Makes a Record

Twelve miles were gone when the foreglow--the first cold dawn-lightshowed, and shining across his path ahead was a mighty rolling stream. Guided by the now familiar form of Goodenow Peak he made for this, theHudson's lordly flood. There was his raft securely held, with paddle andpole near by, and he pushed off with all the force of his young vigour. Jumping and careening with the stream in its freshet flood, the raft andits hardy pilot were served with many a whirl and some round spins, butthe long pole found bottom nearly everywhere, and not ten minutes passedbefore the traveller sprang ashore, tied up his craft, then swung andtramped and swung. 

Over the hills of Vanderwhacker, under the woods of Boreas. Tramp, tramp, splash, tramp, wringing and sopping, but strong and hot, tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp. The partridge whirred from his path, the gray deersnorted, and the panther sneaked aside. Tramp, tramp, trot, trot, andthe Washburn Ridge was blue against the sunrise. Trot, trot, over thelow, level, mile-long slope he went, and when the Day-god burnt theupper hill-rim he was by brown Tahawus flood and had covered eighteenmiles. 

By the stream he stopped to drink. A partridge cock, in the pride ofspring, strutted arrogantly on a log. Rolf drew his pistol, fired, thenhung the headless body while he made a camper's blaze: an oatcake, thepartridge, and river water were his meal. His impulse was to go on atonce. His reason, said "go slow. " So he waited for fifteen minutes. Thenagain, beginning with a slow walk, he ere long added to his pace. Inhalf an hour he was striding and in an hour the steady "trot, trot, "that slackened only for the hills or swamps. In an hour more he wason the Washburn Ridge, and far away in the east saw Schroon Lake thatempties in the river Schroon; and as he strode along, exulting in hisstrength, he sang in his heart for joy. Again a gray wolf cantered onhis trail, and the runner laughed, without a thought of fear. He seemedto know the creature better now; knew it as a brother, for it gaveno hostile sound, but only seemed to trot, trot, for the small joy ofrunning with a runner, as a swallow or an antelope will skim along bya speeding train. For an hour or more it matched his pace, then left asthough its pleasant stroll was done, and Rolf kept on and on and on. 

The spring sun soared on high, the day grew warm at noon. Schroon Riverjust above the lake was in his path, and here he stopped to rest. Here, with the last of his oatcake and a little tea, he made his final meal;thirty eight miles had he covered since he rose; his clothes were torn, his moccasins worn, but his legs were strong, his purpose sure; onlytwenty-two miles now, and his duty would be done; his honours won. Whatshould he do, push on at once? No, he meant to rest an hour. He made agood fire by a little pool, and using a great mass of caribou moss as asponge, he had a thorough rub-down. He got out his ever-ready needleand put his moccasins in good shape; he dried his clothes and lay on hisback till the hour was nearly gone. Then he girded himself for this thefinal run. He was weary, indeed, but he was far from spent, and the ironwill that had yearly grown in force was there with its unconquerablesupport. 

Slowly at start, soon striding, and at last in the famous jog trot ofthe scout he went. The sky was blackened with clouds at length, and thejealous, howling east wind rolled up in rain; the spindrift blurred theway; the heavy showers of spring came down and drenched him; but hispack was safe and he trotted on and on. Then long, deep swamps of alderbarred his path, and, guided only by the compass, Rolf pushed in andthrough and ever east. Barely a mile an hour in the thickest parthe made, but lagged not; drenched and footsore, warm and torn, butdoggedly, steadily on. At three he had made a scant seven miles; thenthe level, open wood of Thunderbolt was reached and his stride became arun; trot, trot, trot, at six-mile gait, for but fifteen miles remained. Sustained, inspired, the bringer of good news, he halted not andfaltered not, but on and on. 

Tramp tramp, tramp tramp--endless, tireless, hour by hour. At five hewas on Thunder Creek, scarce eight miles more to the goal; his limbswere sore, his feet were sore; bone tired was he, but his heart wasfilled with joy. 

"News of battle, news of victory" he was bringing, and the thought lentstrength; the five mires passed, the way was plain with good roads now, but the runner was so weary. He was striding, his running was done, thesun was low in the west, his feet were bleeding, the courier was brainworn and leg worn, but he strode and strode. He passed by homes butheeded them not. 

"Come in and rest, " called one who saw nothing but a weary traveller. Rolf shook his head, but gave no word and strode along. A mile--a shortmile now; he must hold out; if he sat down he feared he could not rise. He came at last in sight of the fort; then, gathering all his force, hebroke into a trot, weak, so weak that had he fallen, he could scarcelyhave got up, and slow, but faster than a walk: and so, as the red sunsank, he passed the gate. He had no right to give tidings to any but thegeneral, yet they read it in his eyes. The guard broke into a cheer, and trotting still, though reeling, Rolf had kept his word, had made hisrun, had brought the news, and had safely reached his goal. 

Chapter 74. Van Trumper's Again

Why should the scout bringing good news be differently received from theone that brings the ill? He did not make, the news, he simply did hisduty; the same in both cases. He is merely the telegraph instrument. Yet it is so ever. King Pharaoh slew the bearer of ill-tidings; that washuman nature. And General Hampton brought in the tall stripling to histable, to honour him, to get the fullest details, to glory in everyitem as though it all were due to himself. Rolf's wonderful journey wasdilated on, and in the reports to Albany he was honourably mentioned forexceptionally meritorious service as a bearer of despatches. 

For three days Flying Kittering was hero of the post; then other runnerscame with other news and life went on. 

Hitherto the scouts had worn no uniform, but the execution of one oftheir number, who was captured by the British and treated as a spy, resulted in orders that all be formally enlisted and put in uniform. 

Not a few withdrew from the service; some, like Quonab, reluctantlyconsented, but Rolf was developing the fighting spirit, and was proud towear the colours. 

The drill was tedious enough, but it was of short duration for him. Despatches were to go to Albany. The general, partly to honour Rolf, selected him. 

"Are you ready for another run, Kittering?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Then prepare to start as soon as possible for Fort George and Albany. Do you want a mate?"

"I should like a paddler as far as Fort George. "

"Well, pick your man. "

"Quonab. "

And when they set out, for the first time Rolf was in the stern, thepost of guidance and command. So once more the two were travelling againwith Skookum in the bow. It was afternoon when they started and thefour-mile passage of the creek was slow, but down the long, gloriousvista of the noble George they went at full canoe-flight, five miles anhour, and twenty-five miles of the great fair-way were reeled and pastwhen they lighted their nightly fire. 

At dawn-cry of the hawk they sped away, and in spite of a rising windthey made six miles in two hours. 

As they approached the familiar landing of Van Trumper's farm, Skookumbegan to show a most zestful interest that recalled the blackened pagesof his past. "Quonab, better use that, " and Rolf handed a line withwhich Skookum was secured and thus led to make a new record, for thiswas the first time in his life that he landed at Van Trumper's withoutsacrificing a chicken in honour of the joyful occasion. 

They entered the house as the family were sitting down to breakfast. 

"Mein Hemel! mein Hemel! It is Rolf and Quonab; and vere is dot tam dog?Marta, vere is de chickens? Vy, Rolf, you bin now a giant, yah. MeinGott, it is I am glad! I did tink der cannibals you had eat; is it demCanadian or cannibal? I tink it all one the same, yah!"

Marta was actually crying, the little ones were climbing over Rolf'sknee, and Annette, tall and sixteen now, stood shyly by, awaiting achance to shake hands. Home is the abiding place of those we love; itmay be a castle or a cave, a shanty or a chateau, a moving van, a tepee, or a canal boat, a fortress or the shady side of a bush, but it is home, if there indeed we meet the faces that are ever in the heart, and findthe hands whose touch conveys the friendly glow. Was there any otherspot on earth where he could sit by the fire and feel that "hereaboutare mine own, the people I love?" Rolf knew it now--Van Trumper's washis home. 

Talks of the war, of disasters by land, and of glorious victories onthe sea, where England, long the unquestioned mistress of the waves, had been humbled again and again by the dauntless seamen of her Westernblood; talks of big doings by the nation, and, yet more interesting, small doings by the travellers, and the breakfast passed all too soon. The young scout rose, for he was on-duty, but the long rollers on thelake forbade the going forth. Van's was a pleasant place to wait, buthe chafed at the delay; his pride would have him make a record on everyjourney. But wait he must. Skookum tied safely to his purgatorial postwhined indignantly--and with head cocked on one side, picked outthe very hen he would like to utilize--as soon as released from histemporary embarrassment. Quonab went out on a rock to bum some tobaccoand pray for calm, and Rolf, ever active, followed Van to look overthe stock and buildings, and hear of minor troubles. The chimney wasunaccountably given to smoking this year. Rolf took an axe and with twoblows cut down a vigorous growth shrubbery that stood above the chimneyon the west, and the smoking ceased. Buck ox had a lame foot and wouldallow no one even to examine it. But a skilful ox-handler easily hobblesan ox, throws him near some small tree, and then, by binding the lamefoot to the tree, can have a free hand. It proved a simple matter, adeep-sunk, rusty nail. And when the nail was drawn and the place washedclean with hot brine, kind nature was left in confidence to do therest. They drifted back to the house now. Tomas met them shouting out amixture of Dutch and English and holding by the cover Annette's book ofthe "Good Girl. " But its rightful owner rescued the precious volume andput it on the shelf. 

"Have you read it through, Annette?"

"Yes, " was the reply, for she had learned to read before they leftSchuylerville. 

"How do you like it?"

"Didn't like it a bit; I like 'Robinson Crusoe', " was the candid reply. 

The noon hour came, still the white rollers were pounding the shore. 

"If it does not calm by one o'clock I'll go on afoot. "

So off he went with the packet, leaving Quonab to follow and await hisreturn at Fort George. In Schuyler settlement he spent the night and atnoon next day was in Albany. 

How it stirred his soul to see the busy interest, the marching of men, the sailing of vessels, and above all to hear of more victories on thehigh seas. What mattered a few frontier defeats in the north, when thearrogant foe that had spurned and insulted them before the world had nowbeen humbled again and again. 

Young Van Cortlandt was away, but the governor's reception of himreflected the electric atmosphere--the country's pride in her sons. 

Rolf had a matter of his own to settle. At the bookseller's he asked forand actually secured a copy of the great book--"Robinson Crusoe. " It waswith a thrilling feeling of triumph that he wrote Annette's name in itand stowed it in his bag. 

He left Albany next day in the gray dawn. Thanks to his uniform, he gota twenty-five mile lift with a traveller who drove a fast team, and theblue water was glinting back the stars when he joined Quonab at FortGeorge, some sixty miles away. 

In the calm betwixt star-peep and sun-up they were afloat. It was agreat temptation to stop at Hendrik's for a spell, but breakfast wasover, the water was calm, and duty called him. He hallooed, then theydrew near enough to hand the book ashore. Skookum growled, probably atthe hens, and the family waved their aprons as he sped on. Thirty milesof lake and four miles of Ticonderoga Creek they passed and the packetwas delivered in four days and three hours since leaving. 

The general smiled and his short but amply sufficient praise was merely, "You're a good 'un. "

Chapter 75. Scouting in Canada

"Thar is two things, " said Si Sylvanne to the senate, "that everynational crisis is bound to show up: first, a lot o' dum fools incommand; second a lot o great commanders in the ranks. An' fortunatelybefore the crisis is over the hull thing is sure set right, and the menis where they oughter be. "

How true this was the nation was just beginning to learn. The fools incommand were already demonstrated, and the summer of 1813 was repletewith additional evidence. May, June, and July passed with manyjourneyings for Rolf and many times with sad news. The disasters atStony Creek, Beaver Dam, and Niagara were severe blows to the army onthe western frontier. In June on Lake Champlain the brave but recklessLieutenant Sidney Smith had run his two sloops into a trap. Thus theGrowler and the Eagle were lost to the Americans, and strengthened bythat much the British navy on the lake. 

Encouraged by these successes, the British north of Lake Champlain maderaid after raid into American territory, destroying what they could notcarry off. 

Rolf and Quonab were sent to scout in that country and if possible givetimely notice of raiders in force. 

The Americans were averse to employing Indians in warfare; the Britishentertained no such scruples and had many red-skinned allies. Quonab'scase, however, was unusual, since he was guaranteed by his whitepartner, and now he did good service, for he knew a little French andcould prowl among the settlers without anyone suspecting him of being anAmerican scout. 

Thus he went alone and travelled far. He knew the country nearly toMontreal and late in July was lurking about Odletown, when he overheardscattered words of a conversation that made him eager for more. "ColonelMurray--twelve hundred men--four hundred men--"

Meanwhile Rolf was hiding in the woods about La Colle Mill. Companyafter company of soldiers he saw enter, until at least five hundred werethere. When night came down, he decided to risk a scarer approach. Heleft the woods and walked cautiously across the open lands about. 

The hay had been cut and most of it drawn in, but there was in themiddle of the field a hay-cock. Rolf was near this when he heard soundsof soldiers from the mill. Soon large numbers came out, carrying theirblankets. Evidently there was not room for them in the mill, and theywere to camp on the field. 

The scout began to retreat when sounds behind showed that anotherbody of soldiers was approaching from that direction and he was caughtbetween the two. There was only one place to hide and that was beneaththe haycock. He lifted its edge and crawled under, but it was full ofthistles and brambles; indeed, that was why it was left, and he had thebenefit of all the spines about him. 

His heart beat fast as he heard the clank of arms and the trampling;they came nearer, then the voices became more distinct. He heardunmistakable evidence too that both bodies were camping for the night, and that he was nearly surrounded. Not knowing what move was best hekept quiet. The men were talking aloud, then they began preparing theirbeds and he heard some one say, "There's a hay-cock; bring some ofthat. "

A soldier approached to get an armful of the hay, but sputtered out achapter of malediction as his bare hands touched the masses of thistleand briers. His companions laughed at his mishap. He went to the fireand vowed he'd stick a brand in it and back he came with a burningstick. 

Rolf was all ready to make a dash for his life as soon as the covershould take fire, and he peered up into the soldier's face as the latterblew on the brand; but the flame had died, the thistles were not dry, and the fire was a failure; so, growling again, the soldier threw downthe smoking stick and went away. As soon as he was safely afar, Rolfgathered a handful of soil and covered the red embers. 

It was a critical moment and his waiting alone had saved him. 

Two soldiers came with their blankets and spread them near. For a timethey smoked and talked. One of them was short of tobacco; the othersaid, "Never mind, we'll get plenty in Plattsburg, " and they guffawed. 

Then he heard, "As soon as the colonel" and other broken phrases. 

It was a most difficult place for Rolf; he was tormented with thistlesin his face and down his neck; he dared not change his position; andhow long he must stay was a problem. He would try to escape when all wasstill. 

The nearer soldiers settled to rest now. All was very quiet when Rolfcautiously peeped forth to see two dreadful things: first, a coupleof sentries pacing up and down the edges of the camp; second, a broad, brilliant, rising moon. How horrible that lovely orb could be Rolf neverbefore knew. 

Now, what next? He was trapped in the middle of a military campand undoubtedly La Colle Mill was the rendezvous for some importantexpedition. 

He had ample time to think it all over. Unless he could get away beforeday he would surely be discovered. His uniform might save his life, but soldiers have an awkward, hasty way of dealing summarily with aspy--then discovering too late that he was in uniform. 

From time to time he peered forth, but the scene was unchanged--thesleeping regiment, the pacing sentries, the ever-brightening moon. Thenthe guard was changed, and the sentries relieved selected of all placesfor their beds, the bank beside the hay-cock. Again one of them went tohelp himself to some hay for a couch; and again the comic anger as hediscovered it to be a bed of thorns. How thankful Rolf was for thoseannoying things that pricked his face and neck. 

He was now hemmed in on every side and, not knowing what to do, didnothing. For a couple of hours he lay still, then actually fell asleep. He was awakened by a faint rustling near his head and peered forth tosee a couple of field mice playing about. 

The moon was very bright now, and the movements of the mice were plain;they were feeding on the seeds of plants in the hay-cock, and from timeto time dashed under--the hay. Then they gambolled farther off and weremaking merry over a pod of wild peas when a light form came skimmingnoiselessly over the field. There was a flash, a hurried rush, a clutch, a faint squeak, and one of the mice was borne away in the claws of itsfeathered foe. The survivor scrambled under the hay over Rolf's face andsomewhere into hiding. 

The night passed in many short naps. The bugle sounded at daybreak andthe soldiers arose to make breakfast. Again one approached to use ahandful of hay for fire-kindler, and again the friendly thistles didtheir part. More and more now his ear caught suggestive words andsounds--"Plattsburg"--"the colonel"--etc. 

The breakfast smelt wonderfully captivating--poor Rolf was famished. Thealluring aroma of coffee permeated the hay-cock. He had his dried meat, but his need was water; he was tormented with thirst, and stiff andtortured; he was making the hardest fight of his life. It seemed long, though doubtless it was less than half an hour before the meal wasfinished, and to Rolf's relief there were sounds of marching and thenoises were drowned in the distance. 

By keeping his head covered with hay and slowly raising it, he was safeto take a look around. It was a bright, sunny morning. The hay-cock, or thistle-cock, was one of several that had been rejected. It was aquarter-mile from cover; the soldiers were at work cutting timber andbuilding a stockade around the mill; and, most dreadful to relate, asmall dog was prowling about, looking for scraps on the scene of thesoldiers' breakfast. If that dog came near his hiding-place, he knew thegame was up. At such close quarters, you can fool a man but not a dog. 

Fortunately the breakfast tailings proved abundant, and the dog went offto assist a friend of his in making sundry interesting smell analysesalong the gate posts of the stockade. 

Chapter 76. The Duel

This was temporary relief, but left no suggestion of complete escape. He lay there till nearly noon suffering more and more from the crampedposition and thirst, and utterly puzzled as to the next move. 

"When ye don't like whar ye air, git up without any fuss, and go wharye want to be, " was what Sylvanne once said to him, and it came to Rolfwith something like a comic shock. The soldiers were busy in the woodsand around the forges. In half an hour it would be noon and they mightcome back to eat. 

Rolf rose without attempting any further concealment, then stopped, madea bundle of the stuff that had sheltered him and, carrying this on hisshoulder, strode boldly across the field toward the woods. 

His scout uniform was inconspicuous; the scouts on duty at the mill sawonly one of themselves taking a bundle of hay round to the stables. 

He reached the woods absolutely unchallenged. After a few yards in itsfriendly shade, he dropped the thorny bundle and strode swiftly towardhis own camp. He had not gone a hundred yards before a voice of Frenchtype cried "'Alt, " and he was face to face with a sentry whose musketwas levelled at him. 

A quick glance interchanged, and each gasped out the other's name. 

"Francois la Colle!"

"Rolf Kittering! Mon Dieu! I ought to shoot you, Rolf; I cannot, Icannot! But run, run! I'll shoot over your head, " and his kindly eyesfilled with tears. 

Rolf needed no second hint; he ran like a deer, and the musket ballrattled the branches above his shoulders. 

In a few minutes other soldiers came running and from La Colle theyheard of the hostile spy in camp. 

"I shoot; I t'ink maybe I not hit eem; maybe some brood dere? No, datnetting. "

There were both runners and trackers in camp. They were like bloodhoundsand they took up the trail of the fugitive. But Rolf was playing his owngame now; he was "Flying Kittering. " A crooked trail is hard to follow, and, going at the long stride that had made his success, he left manya crook and turn. Before two miles I they gave it up and the fugitivecoming to the river drank a deep and cooling draught, the first he hadhad that day. Five miles through is the dense forest that lies betweenLa Colle and the border. He struck a creek affluent of the RichelieuRiver and followed to its forks, which was the place of rendezvous withQuonab. 

It was evening as he drew near and after long, attentive listening hegave the cry of the barred owl:

The answer came: a repetition of the last line, and a minute later thetwo scouts were together. 

As they stood, they were startled by a new, sudden answer, an exactrepetition of the first call. Rolf had recovered his rifle from itshiding place and instantly both made ready for some hostile prowler;then after a long silence he gave the final wail line "hoooo-aw" andthat in the woods means, "Who are you?"

Promptly the reply came:

"Wa wah wa wah Wa wah wa hoooo-aw. "

But this was the wrong reply. It should have been only the last half. The imitation was perfect, except, perhaps, on the last note, whichwas a trifle too human. But the signal was well done; it was an expertcalling, either an Indian or some thoroughly seasoned scout; yet Quonabwas not deceived into thinking it an owl. He touched his cheek andhis coat, which, in the scout sign language, means "red coat, " i. E. , Britisher. 

Rolf and his partner got silently out of sight, each with his rlilecocked and ready to make a hole in any red uniform or badge that mightshow itself. Then commenced a very peculiar duel, for evidently theenemy was as clever as themselves and equally anxious to draw them outof cover. 

Wa-wah-wa hooo-aw called the stranger, giving the right answer in thewrong place. He was barely a hundred yards off, and, as the two strainedtheir senses to locate him, they heard a faint click that told of hisapproach. 

Rolf turned his head and behind a tree uttered again the Wa-wah-a--hoowhich muffled by his position would convince the foe that he wasretreating. The answer came promptly and much nearer:

Wa--wah--wa--hoooo-aw. 

Good! the medicine was working. So Rolf softened his voice still more, while Quonab got ready to shoot. 

The Wa--wa--hooo-aw that came in answer this time was startlingly clearand loud and nearly perfect in intonation, but again betrayed by thehuman timbre of the aw. A minute or two more and they would reach aclimax. 

After another wait, Rolf muffled his voice and gave the single hooo-aw, and a great broad-winged owl came swooping through the forest, alightedon a tree overhead, peered about, then thrilled them with his weird:

Wa--hoo--wa--boo

Wa--hoo--wa--hooooooooo-aw, the last note with the singular humanquality that had so completely set them astray. 

Chapter 77. Why Plattsburg Was Raided

 The owl's hull reputation for wisdom is built up on lookin' wise and keepin' mum. --Sayings of St Sylvanne

THE owl incident was one of the comedies of their life, now they hadbusiness on hand. The scraps of news brought by Quonab pieced out withthose secured by Rolf, spelt clearly this: that Colonel Murray withabout a thousand men was planning a raid on Plattsburg. 

Their duty was to notify General Hampton without delay. 

Burlington, forty miles away, was headquarters. Plattsburg, twenty milesaway, was marked for spoil. 

One more item they must add: Was the raid to baby land or water? If thelatter, then they must know what preparations were being made at theBritish naval station, Isle au Noix. They travelled all night throughthe dark woods, to get there, though it was but seven miles away, and inthe first full light they saw the gallant array of two warships, threegunboats, and about fifty long boats, all ready, undoubtedly waitingonly for a change in the wind, which at this season blew on Champlainalmost steadily form the south. 

A three-hour, ten-mile tramp through ways now familiar brought Rolf andhis partner to the north of the Big Chazy where the canoe was hidden, and without loss of time they pushed off for Burlington, thirty milesaway. The wind was head on, and when four hours later they stopped fornoon, they had made not more than a dozen miles. 

All that afternoon they had to fight a heavy sea; this meant they mustkeep near shore in case of an upset, and so lengthened the course; butit also meant that the enemy would not move so long as this wind keptup. 

It was six at night before the scouts ran into Burlington Harbour andmade for Hampton's headquarters. 

His aide received them and, after learning that they had news, went into the general. From the inner room now they heard in unnecessarily loudtones the great man's orders to, "Bring them in, sah. "

The bottles on the table, his purple visage, and thick tongued speechtold how well-founded were the current whispers. 

"Raid on Plattsburg? Ha! I hope so. I only hope so. Gentlemen, " andhe turned to his staff, "all I ask is a chance to get at them--Ha, Ha!Here, help yourself, Macomb, " and the general pushed the decanter to agrave young officer who was standing by. 

"No, thank you, sir, " was the only reply. 

The general waved his hand, the scouts went out, puzzled and ashamed. Was this the brains of the army? No wonder our men are slaughtered. 

Now Macomb ventured to suggest: "Have you any orders, sir? These scoutsare considered quite reliable. I understand from them that the Britishawait only a change of wind. They have between one thousand and twothousand men. "

"Plenty of time in the morning, sah. Plattsburg will be the bait of mytrap, not one of them shall return alive, " and the general dismissed hisstaff that he might fortify himself against a threatened cold. 

Another young man, Lieut. Thomas MacDonough, the naval commandant, nowendeavoured to stir him by a sense of danger. First he announced thathis long boats, and gunboats were ready and in six hours he couldtransfer three thousand troops from Burlington to Plattsburg. Then heventured to urge the necessity for action. 

Champlain is a lake of two winds. It had brown from the south for twoweeks; now a north wind was likely to begin any day. MacDonough urgedthis point, but all in vain, and, shocked and humiliated, the young manobeyed the order "to wait till his advice was asked. "

The next day Hampton ordered a review, not an embarkation, and was notwell enough to appear in person. 

The whole army knew now of the situation of affairs, and the militia inparticular were not backward in expressing their minds. 

Next day, July 30th, the wind changed. Hampton did nothing. On themorning of July 31st they heard the booming of guns in the north, and atnight their scouts came with the news that the raid was on. Plattsburgwas taken and pillaged by a force less than one third of those held atBurlington. 

There were bitter, burning words on the lips of the rank and file, andperfunctory rebukes on the lips of the young officers when they chancedto overhear. The law was surely working out as set forth by Si Sylvanne:"The fools in command, the leaders in the ranks. "

And now came news of fresh disasters--the battles of Beaverdam, Stony Creek, and Niagara River. It was the same story in nearly everycase--brave fighting men, ill-drilled, but dead shots, led into traps byincompetent commanders. 

In September Lieutenant Macomb was appointed to command at Plattsburg. This proved as happy an omen as it was a wise move. Immediately after, in all this gloom, came the news of Perry's famous victory on Lake Erie, marking a new era for the American cause, followed by the destruction ofMoraviantown and the British army which held it. 

Stirred at last to action General Wilkinson sent despatches to Hamptonto arrange an attack on Montreal. There was no possibility of failure, he said, for the sole defence of Montreal was 600 marines. His armyconsisted of 8000 men. Hampton's consisted of 4000. By a union of theseat the mouth of Chateaugay River, they would form an invincible array. 

So it seemed. Rolf had not yet seen any actual fighting and began tolong for the front. But his powers as a courier kept him ever busybearing despatches. The road to Sackett's Harbour and thence toOgdensburg and Covington, and back to Plattsburg he knew thoroughly, andin his canoe he had visited every port on Lakes Champlain and George. 

He was absent at Albany in the latter half of October and first ofNovember, but the ill news travelled fast. Hampton requested MacDonoughto "swoop down on Isle au Noix"--an insane request, compliance withwhich would have meant certain destruction to the American fleet. MacDonough's general instructions were: "Cooperate with the army, butat any price retain supremacy of the lake, " and he declined to receiveHampton's order. 

Threatening court-martials and vengeance on his return, Hampton now setout by land; but at Chateaugay he was met by a much smaller force ofCanadians who resisted him so successfully that he ordered a retreat andhis army retired to Plattsburg. 

Meanwhile General Wilkinson had done even worse. His army numbered 8000. Of these the rear guard were 2500. A body of 800 Canadians harassedtheir line of march. Turning to brush away this annoyance, the Americanswere wholly defeated at Chrystler's farm and, giving up the attack onMontreal, Wilkinson crossed the St. Lawrence and settled for the winterat Chateaugay. 

In December, America scored an important advance by relieving Hampton ofhis command. 

As the spring drew near, it was clearly Wilkinson's first play tocapture La Colle Mill, which had been turned into a fortress ofconsiderable strength and a base for attack on the American border, somefive miles away. 

Of all the scouts Rolf best knew that region, yet he was the one leftout of consideration and despatched with papers to Plattsburg. Theattack was bungled from first to last, and when Wilkinson was finallyrepulsed, it was due to Macomb that the retreat was not a rout. 

But good came out of this evil, for Wilkinson was recalled and the lawwas nearly fulfilled--the incompetents were gone. General Macomb was incommand of the land force and MacDonough of the Lake. 

Chapter 78. Rumours and Papers

MacDonough's orders were to hold control of the Lake. How he did it willbe seen. The British fleet at Isle au Noix was slightly stronger thanhis own, therefore he established a navy yard at Vergennes, in Vermont, seven miles up the Otter River, and at the mouth erected earthworksand batteries. He sent for Brown (of the firm of Adam and Noah Brown)a famous New York shipbuilder. Brown agreed to launch a ship oftwenty-four guns in sixty days. The trees were standing in the forest onMarch 2d the keel was laid March 7th, and on April 11th the Saratoga waslaunched--forty days after the timbers were green standing trees on thehills. 

Other vessels were begun and pushed as expeditiously. And nowMacDonough's wisdom in choice of the navy yard was seen, for a Britishsquadron was sent to destroy his infant fleet, or at least sinkstone-boats across the exit so as to bottle it up. 

But their attempts were baffled by the batteries which the far-seeingAmerican had placed at the river's mouth. 

The American victory at Chippewa was followed by the defeat at Lundy'sLane, and on August 25th the city of Washington was captured by theBritish and its public buildings destroyed. These calamities, instead ofdampening the spirits of the army, roused the whole nation at last toa realization of the fact that they were at war. Fresh troops andplentiful supplies were voted, the deadwood commanders were retired, andthe real men revealed by the two campaigns were given place and power. 

At the same time, Great Britain, having crushed Napoleon, was in aposition to greatly reinforce her American army, and troops seasoned inContinental campaigns were poured into Canada. 

All summer Rolf was busied bearing despatches. During the winter heand Quonab had built a birch canoe on special lines for speed; it wouldcarry two men but no baggage. 

With this he could make fully six miles an hour for a short time, andaverage five on smooth water. In this he had crossed and recrossedChamplain, and paddled its length, till he knew every bay and headland. The overland way to Sackett's Harbour he had traversed several times;the trail from Plattsburg to Covington he knew in all weathers, and hadrepeatedly covered its sixty miles in less than twenty-four hours onfoot. The route he picked and followed was in later years the lineselected for the military highway between these two camps. 

But the chief scene of his activities was the Canadian wilderness at thenorth end of Lake Champlain. Chazy, Champlain, Odelltown, La ColleMill, Isle au Noix, and Richelieu River he knew intimately and had alsoacquired a good deal of French in learning their country. 

It was characteristic of General Wilkinson to ignore the scout who knewand equally characteristic of his successors, Izard and Macomb, to seekand rely on the best man. 

The news that he brought in many different forms was that the Britishwere again concentrating an army to strike at Plattsburg and Albany. 

Izard on the land at Plattsburg and Champlain, and Macomb at Burlingtonstrained all their resources to meet the invader at fair terms. Izardhad 4000 men assembled, when an extraordinary and devastating order fromWashington compelled him to abandon the battle front at Champlain andlead his troops to Sackett's Harbour where all was peace. He protestedlike a statesman, then obeyed like a soldier, leaving Macomb in commandof the land forces of Lake Champlain, with, all told, some 3400 men. Onthe day that Izard left Champlain, the British troops, under Brisbane, advanced and occupied his camp. 

As soon as Rolf had seen them arrive, and had gauged their number, hesent Quonab back to report, and later retired by night ten miles up theroad to Chazy. He was well known to many of the settlers and waswelcome where ever known, not only because he was a patriot fighting hiscountry's battles, but for his own sake, for he was developing intoa handsome, alert, rather silent youth. It is notorious that in thedrawing-room, given equal opportunity, the hunter has the advantage overthe farmer. He has less self-consciousness, more calm poise. He is nottroubled about what to do with his feet and hands, and is more convincedof his native dignity and claims to respect. In the drawin-room Rolfwas a hunter: the leading inhabitants of the region around received himgladly and honoured him. He was guest at Judge Hubbell's in Chazy, inSeptember of 1814. Every day he scouted in the neighbourhood and atnight returned to the hospitable home of the judge. 

On the 12th of September, from the top of a tall tree on a distantwooded hill, he estimated the force at Champlain to be 10, 000 to 15, 000men. Already their bodyguard was advancing on Chazy. 

Judge Hubbell and anxious neighbours hastily assembled now, discussedwith Rolf the situation and above all, "What shall we do with ourfamilies?" One man broke into a storm of hate and vituperation againstthe British. "Remember the burning of Washington and the way theytreated the women at Bladensburg. "

"All of which about the women was utterly disproved, except in onecase, and in that the criminal was shot by order of his own commander, "retorted Hubbell. 

At Plattsburg others maintained that the British had harmed no one. Colonel Murray had given strict orders that all private property beabsolutely respected. Nothing but government property was destroyed andonly that which could be construed into war stores and buildings. Whatfurther damage was done was the result of accident or error. Officerswere indeed quartered on the inhabitants, but they paid for whatthey got, and even a carpet destroyed by accident was replaced monthsafterward by a British officer who had not the means at the time. 

So it was agreed that Hubbell with Rolf and the village fathers andbrothers should join their country's army, leaving wives and childrenbehind. 

There were wet bearded cheeks among the strong, rugged men as theykissed their wives and little ones and prepared to go, then stopped, ashorrible misgivings rose within. "This was war, and yet again, 'We havehad proofs that the British harmed no woman or child'. " So they dashedaway the tears, suppressed the choking in their throats, shoulderedtheir guns, and marched away to the front, commending their dear ones tothe mercy of God and the British invaders. 

None had any cause to regret this trust. Under pain of death, Sir GeorgePrevost enforced his order that the persons of women and children andall private property be held inviolate. As on the previous raid, nodamage was done to non-combatants, and the only hardships endured wereby the few who, knowing nothing, feared much, and sought the precarioussafety of life among the hills. 

Sir George Prevost and his staff of ten officers were quartered in JudgeHubbell's house. Mrs. Hubbell was hard put to furnish them with meals, but they treated her with perfect respect, and every night, not knowinghow long they might stay, they left on the table the price of theirboard and lodging. 

For three days they waited, then all was ready for the advance. 

"Now for Plattsburg this week and Albany next, so good-bye, madam" theysaid politely, and turned to ride away, a gay and splendid group. 

"Good-bye, sirs, for a very little while, but I know you'll soon be backand hanging your heads as you come, " was the retort. 

Sir George replied: "If a man had said that, I would call him out; butsince it is a fair lady that has been our charming hostess, I reply thatwhen your prophecy comes true, every officer here shall throw his purseon your door step as he passes. "

So they rode away, 13, 000 trained men with nothing between them andAlbany but 2000 troops, double as many raw militia, and--MacDonough ofthe Lake. 

Ten times did Rolf cover that highway north of Plattsburg in the weekthat followed, and each day his tidings were the same--the Britishsteadily advance. 

Chapter 79. McGlassin's Exploit

There was a wonderful spirit on everything in Plattsburg, and theearthly tabernacle in which it dwelt, was the tall, grave young man whohad protested against Hampton's behaviour at Burlington--Captain, nowGeneral Macomb. Nothing was neglected, every emergency was planned for, every available man was under arms. Personally tireless, he was everalert and seemed to know every man in his command and every man ofit had implicit confidence in the leader. We have heard of soldiersescaping from a besieged fortress by night; but such was the inspiringpower of this commander that there was a steady leaking in of men fromthe hills, undrilled and raw, but of superb physique and dead shots withthe ride. 

A typical case was that of a sturdy old farmer who was marching throughthe woods that morning to take his place with those who manned thebreastworks and was overheard to address his visibly trembling legs:"Shake, damn you, shake; and if ye knew where I was leading you, you'dbe ten times worse. "

His mind was more valiant than his body, and his mind kept control--thisis true courage. 

No one had a better comprehension of all this than Macomb. He knew thatall these men needed was a little training to make of them the bestsoldiers on earth. To supply that training he mixed them with veterans, and arranged a series of unimportant skirmishes as coolly and easily asthough he were laying out a programme for an evening's entertainment. 

The first of these was at Culver's Hill. Here a barricade was thrown upalong the highway, a gun was mounted, and several hundred riflemen wereposted under leaders skilled in the arts of harrying a foe and givinghim no chance to strike back. 

Among the men appointed for the barricade's defence was Rolf and nearhim Quonab. The latter had been seasoned in the Revolution, but it wasthe former's first experience at the battle front, and he felt as mostmen do when the enemy in brave array comes marching up. As soon as theywere within long range, his leader gave the order "Fire!" The riflesrattled and the return fire came at once. Balls pattered on thebarricade or whistled above. The man next to him was struck and droppedwith a groan; another fell back dead. The horror and roar were overmuch. Rolf was nervous enough when he entered the fight. Now he was unstrung, almost stunned, his hands and knees were shaking, he was nearlypanic-stricken and could not resist the temptation to duck, as the ballshissed murder over his head. He was blazing away, without aiming, whenan old soldier, noting his white face and shaking form, laid a handon his shoulder and, in kindly tones, said: "Steady, boy, steady;yer losing yer head; see, this is how, " and he calmly took aim, then, without firing, moved the gun again and put a little stick to raise themuzzle and make a better rest, then fired as though at target practice. "Now rest for a minute. Look at Quonab there; you can see he's beenthrough it before. He is making a hit with every shot. "

Rolf did as he was told, and in a few minutes his colour came back, his hand was steady, and thenceforth he began to forget the danger andthought only of doing his work. 

When at length it was seen that the British were preparing to charge, the Americans withdrew quickly and safely to Halsey's Corner, where wasanother barricade and a fresh lot of recruits awaiting to receive theirbaptism of fire. And the scene was repeated. Little damage was done tothe foe but enormous benefit was gained by the Americans, because ittook only one or two of these skirmishes to turn a lot of shaky-kneedvolunteers into a band of steady soldiers--for they had it all inside. Thus their powder terror died. 

That night the British occupied the part of the town that was northof the Saranac, and began a desultory bombardment of the fortificationopposite. Not a very serious one, for they considered they could takethe town at any time, but preferred to await the arrival of their fleetunder Downie. 

The fight for the northern half of the town was not serious, merely partof Macomb's prearranged training course; but when the Americans retiredacross the Saranac, the planks of the bridges were torn up, loop-holedbarricades were built along the southern bank, and no effort spared toprepare for a desperate resistance. 

Every man that could hold up a gun was posted on the lines ofPlattsburg. The school-boys, even, to the number of five hundred formeda brigade, and were assigned to places where their squirrel-huntingexperiences could be made of service to their country. 

Meanwhile the British had established a battery opposite Fort Brown. Itwas in a position to do some material and enormous moral damage. On theninth it was nearly ready for bloody work, and would probably begin nextmorning. That night, however, an extraordinary event took place, andshowed how far from terror-palsy were the motley troops in Plattsburg. Asturdy Vermonter, named Captain McGlassin, got permission of Malcomb toattempt a very Spartan sortie. 

He called for fifty volunteers to go on a most hazardous enterprise. Hegot one thousand at once. Then he ordered all over twenty-five and undereighteen to retire. This reduced the number to three hundred. Then, all married men were retired, and thus again they were halved. Next heordered away all who smoked--Ah, deep philosopher that he was!--and fromthe remnant he selected his fifty. Among them was Rolf. Then he divulgedhis plan. It was nothing less than a dash on the new-made fort to spikethose awful guns--fifty men to dash into a camp of thirteen thousand. 

Again he announced, "Any who wish to withdraw now may do so. " Not a manstirred. 

Twenty of those known to be expert with tools were provided with hammersand spikes for the guns, and Rolf was proud to be one of them. 

In a night of storm and blackness they crossed the Saranac; dividing intwo bodies they crawled unseen, one on each side of the battery. Threehundred British soldiers were sleeping near, only the sentries peeredinto the storm-sleet. 

All was ready when McGlassin's tremendous voice was heard, "Chargefront and rear!" Yelling, pounding, making all the noise they could, theAmerican boys rushed forth. The British were completely surprised, thesentries were struck down, and the rest assured that Macomb's army wason them recoiled for a few minutes. The sharp click, click, click of thehammers was heard. An iron spike was driven into every touch hole;the guns were made harmless as logs and quickly wheeling, to avoid thereturn attack, these bold Yankee boys leaped from the muzzled redoubtand reached their own camp without losing one of their number. 

Chapter 80. The Bloody Saranac

Sir George Prevost had had no intention of taking Plattsburg, tillPlattsburg's navy was captured. But the moral effect of McGlassin'sexploit must be offset at once. He decided to carry the city by storm--amatter probably of three hours' work. 

He apportioned a regiment to each bridge, another to each ford near thetown, another to cross the river at Pike's Cantonment, and yet anotherto cross twenty miles above, where they were to harry the fragments ofthe American as it fled. 

That morning Plattsburg was wakened by a renewal of the bombardment. Theheavy firing killed a few men knocked down a few walls and chimneys, butdid little damage to the earthworks. 

It was surprising to all how soon the defenders lost their gun-shyness. The very school-boys and their sisters went calmly about their business, with cannon and musket balls whistling overhead, striking the walls andwindows, or, on rare occasions, dropping some rifleman who was over-rashas he worked or walked on the ramparts. 

There were big things doing in the British camp--regiments marching andtaking their places--storms of rifle and cannon balls raging fiercely. By ten o'clock there was a lull. The Americans, from the grandfathers tothe school-boys, were posted, each with his rifle and his pouch full ofballs; there were pale faces among the youngsters, and nervous fingers, but there was no giving way. Many a man there was, no doubt, who, underthe impulse of patriotism, rushed with his gun to join the ranks, andwhen the bloody front was reached, he wished in his heart he was safe athome. But they did not go. Something kept them staunch. 

Although the lines were complete all along the ramparts, there were fourplaces where the men were massed. These were on the embankments oppositethe bridges and the fords. Here the best shots were placed and amongthem was Rolf, with others of McGlassin's band. 

The plank of the bridges had been torn up and used with earth to formbreastworks; but the stringers of the bridges were there, and a body ofred-coats approaching, each of them showed plainly what their plan was. 

The farthest effective range of rifle fire in those days was reckoned ata hundred yards. The Americans were ordered to hold their fire tillthe enemy reached the oaks, a grove one hundred yards from the mainbridge--on the other bank. 

The British came on in perfect review-day style. Now a hush fell on all. The British officer in command was heard clearly giving his orders. Howstrange it must have been to the veterans of wars in Spain, France, and the Rhine, to advance against a force with whom they needed nointerpreter. 

McGlassin's deep voice now rang along the defences, "Don't fire till Igive the order. "

The red-coats came on at a trot, they reached the hundred-yard-mark. 

"Now, aim low and fire!" from McGlassin, and the rattle of the Yankeeguns was followed by reeling ranks of red in the oaks. 

"Charge!" shouted the British officer and the red-coats charged to thebridge, but the fire from the embankment was incessant; the trail of thecharging men was cluttered with those who fell. 

"Forward!" and the gallant British captain leaped on the centralstringer of the bridge and, waving his sword, led on. Instantly threelines of men were formed, one on each stringer. 

They were only fifty yards from the barricade, with five hundred rifles, all concentrated on these stringers. The first to fall was the captain, shot through the heart, and the river bore him away. But on and on camethe three ranks into the whistling, withering fire of lead. It was likeslaughtering sheep. Yet on and on they marched steadily for half anhour. Not a man held back or turned, though all knew they were marchingto their certain death. Not one of them ever reached the centre of thespan, and those who dropped, not dead, were swallowed by the swollenstream. How many hundred brave men were sacrificed that day, no one everknew. He who gave the word to charge was dead with his second and thirdin command and before another could come to change the order, the riverran red--the bloody Saranac they call it ever since. 

The regiment was wrecked, and the assault for the time was over. 

Rolf had plied his rifle with the rest, but it sickened him to see thehorrible waste of human valour. It was such ghastly work that he wasglad indeed when a messenger came to say he was needed at headquarters. And in an hour he was crossing the lake with news and instructions forthe officer in command at Burlington. 

Chapter 81. The Battle of Plattsburg

In broad daylight he skimmed away in his one man canoe. 

For five hours he paddled, and at star-peep he reached the dock atBurlington. The howl of a lost dog caught his ear; and when he tracedthe sound, there, on the outmost plank, with his nose to the skies, wasthe familiar form of Skookum, wailing and sadly alone. 

What a change he showed when Rolf landed; he barked, leaped, growled, tail-wagged, head-wagged, feet-wagged, body-wagged, wig-wagged andzigzagged for joy; he raced in circles, looking for a sacrificial hen, and finally uttered a long and conversational whine that doubtless wasfull of information for those who could get it out. 

Rolf delivered his budget at once. It was good news, but not conclusive. Everything depended now on MacDonough. In the morning all availabletroops should hurry to the defence of Plattsburg; not less than fifteenhundred men were ready to embark at daylight. 

That night Rolf slept with Skookum in the barracks. At daybreak, muchto the latter's disgust, he was locked up in a cellar, and the troopsembarked for the front. 

It was a brisk north wind they had to face in crossing and passing downthe lake. There were many sturdy oarsmen at the sweeps, but they couldnot hope to reach their goal in less than five hours. 

When they were half way over, they heard the cannon roar; the boomingbecame incessant; without question, a great naval battle was on, forthis north wind was what the British had been awaiting. The rowers bentto their task and added to the speed. Their brothers were hard pressed;they knew it, they must make haste. The long boats flew. In an hour theycould see the masts, the sails, the smoke of the battle, but nothinggather of the portentous result. Albany and New York, as well asPlattsburg, were in the balance, and the oarsmen rowed and rowed androwed. 

The cannon roared louder and louder, though less continuously, asanother hour passed. Now they could see the vessels only four milesaway. The jets of smoke were intermittent from the guns; masts wentdown. They could see it plainly. The rowers only set their lips androwed and rowed and rowed. 

Sir George had reckoned on but one obstacle in his march to Albany, anobstruction named MacDonough; but he now found there was another calledMacomb. 

It was obviously a waste of men to take Plattsburg by front assault, when he could easily force a passage of the river higher up and take iton the rear; and it was equally clear that when his fleet arrived andcrushed the American fleet, it would be a simple matter for the warvessels to blow the town to pieces, without risking a man. 

Already a favouring wind had made it possible for Downie to leave Isleau Noix and sail down the lake with his gallant crew, under gallantcanvas clouds. 

Tried men and true in control of every ship, outnumbering MacDonough, outweighing him, outpointing him in everything but seamanship, they cameon, sure of success. 

Three chief moves were in MacDonough's strategy. He anchored to thenorthward of the bay, so that any fleet coming down the lake would haveto beat up against the wind to reach him; so close to land that anyfleet trying to flank him would come within range of the forts; and leftonly one apparent gap that a foe might try to use, a gap in frontof which was a dangerous sunken reef. This was indeed a baited trap. Finally he put out cables, kedges, anchors, and springs, so that withthe capstan he could turn his vessels and bring either side to bear onthe foe. 

All was ready, that morning of September the 11th as the British fleet, ably handled, swung around the Cumberland Head. 

The young commander of the Yankee fleet now kneeled bareheaded with hiscrew and prayed to the God of Battles as only those going into battlepray. The gallant foe came on, and who that knows him doubts that he, too, raised his heart in reverent prayer? The first broadside from theBritish broke open a chicken coop on the Saratoga from which a game-cockflew, and, perching on a gun, flapped his wings and crowed; so all theseamen cheered at such a happy omen. 

Then followed the fighting, with its bravery and its horrors--itsbrutish wickedness broke loose. 

Early in the action, the British sloop, Finch, fell into MacDonough'strap and grounded on the reef. 

The British commander was killed, with many of his officers. Still, the heavy fire of the guns would have given them the victory, but forMacDonough's foresight in providing for swinging his ships. When onebroadside was entirely out of action, he used his cables, kedges andsprings, and brought the other batteries to bear. 

It was one of the most desperate naval fights the world has ever seen. Of the three hundred men on the British flagship not more than five, weare told, escaped uninjured; and at the close there was not left on anyone of the eight vessels a mast that could carry sail, or a sail thatcould render service. In less than two hours and a half the fight waswon, and the British fleet destroyed. 

To the God of Battles each had committed his cause: and the God ofBattles had spoken. 

Far away to the southward in the boats were the Vermont troops withtheir general and Rolf in the foremost. Every sign of the fight they hadwatched as men whose country's fate is being tried. 

It was a quarter after eleven when the thunder died away; and theVermonters were headed on shore, for a hasty landing, if need be, whendown from the peak of the British flag-ship went the Union Jack, and theStars and Stripes was hauled to take its place. 

"Thank God!" a soft, murmuring sigh ran through all the boats and manya bronzed and bearded cheek was wet with tears. Each man clasped handswith his neighbour; all were deeply moved, and even as an audiencemelted renders no applause, so none felt any wish to vent his deepemotion in a cheer. 

Chapter 82. Scouting for Macomb

General Macomb knew that Sir George Prevost was a cautious andexperienced commander. The loss of his fleet would certainly make aradical change in his plans, but what change? Would he make a flankmove and dash on to Albany, or retreat to Canada, or entrench himself toawait reinforcements at Plattsburg, or try to retrieve his laurels by anoverwhelming assault on the town?

Whatever his plan, he would set about it quickly, and Macomb studiedthe enemy's camp with a keen, discerning eye, but nothing suggesting achange was visible when the sun sank in the rainy west. 

It was vital that he know it at once when an important move was begun, and as soon as the night came down, a score of the swiftest scouts werecalled for. All were young men; most of them had been in McGlassin'sband. Rolf was conspicuous among them for his tall figure, but therewas a Vermont boy named Seymour, who had the reputation of being theswiftest runner of them all. 

They had two duties laid before them: first, to find whether Prevost'sarmy was really retreating; second, what of the regiment he sent up theSaranac to perform the flank movement. 

Each was given the country he knew best. Some went westerly, somefollowed up the river. Rolf, Seymour, and Fiske, another Vermonter, skimmed out of Plattsburg harbour in the dusk, rounded Cumberland Bend, and at nine o'clock landed at Point au Roche, at the north side ofTreadwell's Bay. 

Here they hid the canoe and agreeing to meet again at midnight, setoff in three different westerly directions to strike the highway atdifferent points. Seymour, as the fast racer, was given the northmostroute; Rolf took the middle. Their signals were arranged--in the woodsthe barred-owl cry, by the water the loon; and they parted. 

The woods seemed very solemn to Rolf that historic September night, as he strode along at speed, stopping now and again when he thought heheard some signal, and opened wide his mouth to relieve his ear-drums ofthe heart-beat or to still the rushing of his breath. 

In half an hour he reached the high-road. It was deserted. Then he hearda cry of the barred owl:

Wa--wah--wa--wah Wa--wah--wa--hooooo-aw. 

He replied with the last line, and the answer came a repeat of the wholechant, showing that it might be owl, it might be man; but it was not theright man, for the final response should have been the hooooo-aw. Rolfnever knew whence it came, but gave no further heed. 

For a long time he sat in a dark corner, where he could watch the road. There were sounds of stir in the direction of Plattsburg. Then later, and much nearer, a couple of shots were fired. He learned afterward thatthose shots were meant for one of his friends. At length there was afaint tump ta tump ta. He drew his knife, stuck it deep in the ground, then held the handle in his teeth. This acted like a magnifier, for nowhe heard it plainly enough--the sound of a horse at full gallop--but sofar away that it was five minutes before he could clearly hear it whilestanding. As the sound neared, he heard the clank of arms, and when itpassed, Rolf knew that this was a mounted British officer. But why, andwhither?

In order to learn the rider's route, Rolf followed at a trot for a mile. This brought him to a hilltop, whither in the silent night, that fatefulnorth wind carried still the sound

 te--rump te--rump te--rump. 

As it was nearly lost, Rolf used his knife again; that brought the riderback within a mile it seemed, and again the hoof beat faded, te--rumpte--rump. 

"Bound for Canada all right, " Rolf chuckled to himself. But there wasnothing to show whether this was a mere despatch rider, or an advancescout, or a call for reinforcements. 

So again he had a long wait. About half-past ten a new and larger soundcame from the south. The knife in the ground increased but did notexplain it. The night was moonless, dark now, and it was safe to sitvery near the road. In twenty minutes the sound was near at hand infive, a dark mass was passing along the road. There is no mistaking thelanguage of drivers. There is never any question about such and such avoice being that of an English officer. There can be no doubt aboutthe clank of heavy wheels--a rich, tangy voice from some one in advancesaid: "Oui. Parbleu, tows ce que je sais, c'est par la. " A body of aboutone hundred Britishers, two or three wagons, guns, and a Frenchman forguide. Rolf thought he knew that voice; yes, he was almost sure it wasthe voice of Francios la Colle. 

This was important but far from conclusive. It was now eleven. He wasdue at the canoe by midnight. He made for the place as fast as he couldgo, which, on such a night, was slow, but guided by occasional glimpsesof the stars he reached the lake, and pausing a furlong from thelanding, he gave the rolling, quivering loon call:

Ho-o-o-o-ooo-o Ho-o-o-o-ooo-o. Hooo-ooo. 

After ten seconds the answer came:

Ho-o-o-o-o-o-o-o Hoo-ooo. 

And again after ten seconds Rolf's reply:

Hoo-ooo. 

Both his friends were there; Fiske with a bullet-hole through his arm. It seemed their duty to go back at once to headquarters with the meagreinformation and their wounded comrade. But Fiske made light of histrouble--it was a mere scratch--and reminded them that their orders wereto make sure of the enemy's movements. Therefore, it was arranged thatSeymour take back Fiske and what news they had, while Rolf went on tocomplete his scouting. 

By one o'clock he was again on the hill where he had marked thehorseman's outward flight and the escorted guns. Now, as he waited, there were sounds in the north that faded, and in the south were similarsounds that grew. Within an hour he was viewing a still larger bodyof troops with drivers and wheels that clanked. There were only twoexplanations possible: Either the British were concentrating on ChazyLanding, where, protected from MacDonough by the north wind, theycould bring enough stores and forces from the north to march overlandindependent of the ships, or else they were in full retreat for Canada. There was but one point where this could be made sure, namely, at theforks of the road in Chazy village. So he set out at a jog trot forChazy, six miles away. 

The troops ahead were going three miles an hour. Rolf could go five. In twenty minutes he overtook them and now was embarrassed by theirslowness. What should he do? It was nearly impossible to make speedthrough the woods in the darkness, so as to pass them. He was forced tocontent himself by marching a few yards in their rear. 

Once or twice when a group fell back, he was uncomfortably close andheard scraps of their talk. 

These left little doubt that the army was in retreat. Still this was themere chatter of the ranks. He curbed his impatience and trudged withthe troop. Once a man dropped back to light his pipe. He almost touchedRolf, and seeing a marching figure, asked in unmistakable accents "Oisoi matey, 'ave ye a loight?"

Rolf assumed the low south country English dialect, already familiarthrough talking with prisoners, and replied: "Naow, oi oin'ta-smowking, " then gradually dropped out of sight. 

They were nearly two hours in reaching Chazy where they passed theForks, going straight on north. Without doubt, now, the army was boundfor Canada! Rolf sat on a fence near by as their footsteps went tramp, tramp, tramp--with the wagons, clank, clank, clank, and were lost in thenorthern distance. 

He had seen perhaps three hundred men; there were thirteen thousand toaccount for, and he sat and waited. He did not have long to wait; withinhalf an hour a much larger body of troops evidently was approaching fromthe south; several lanterns gleamed ahead of them, so Rolf got over thefence, but it was low and its pickets offered poor shelter. Farther backwas Judge Hubbell's familiar abode with dense shrubbery. He hastenedto it and in a minute was hidden where he could see something of theapproaching troops. They were much like those that had gone before, butmuch more numerous, at least a regiment, and as they filled the villageway, an officer cried "Halt!" and gave new orders. Evidently they wereabout to bivouac for the night. A soldier approached the picket fenceto use it for firewood, but an officer rebuked him. Other fuel, chieflyfence rails, was found, and a score or more of fires were lighted on thehighway and in the adjoining pasture. Rolf found himself in somethinglike a trap, for in less than two hours now would be the dawn. 

The simplest way out was to go in; he crawled quietly round the house tothe window of Mrs. Hubbell's room. These were times of nervous tension, and three or four taps on the pane were enough to arouse the good lady. Her husband had come that way more than once. 

"Who is it?" she demanded, through a small opening of the sash. 

"Rolf Kittering, " he whispered, "the place is surrounded by soldiers;can't you hide me?"

Could she? Imagine an American woman saying "No" at such a time. 

He slipped in quietly. 

"What news?" she said. "They say that MacDonough has won on the Lake, but Plattsburg is taken. "

"No, indeed; Plattsburgh is safe; MacDonough has captured the fleet. Iam nearly sure that the whole British army is retiring to Canada. "

"Thank God, thank God, " she said fervently, "I knew it must be so; thewomen have met here and prayed together every day, morning and night. But hush!" she laid a warning finger on her lips and pointed up towardone of the rooms--"British officer. "

She brought two blankets from a press and led up to the garret. At thelowest part of the roof was a tiny door to a lumber closet. In thisRolf spread his blankets, stretched his weary limbs, and soon was soundasleep. 

At dawn the bugles blew, the camp was astir. The officer in the housearose and took his post on the porch. He was there on guard to protectthe house. His brother officers joined him. Mrs. Hubbell preparedbreakfast. It was eaten silently, so far as Rolf could learn. They paidfor it and, heading their regiment, went away northward, leaving theofficer still on the porch. 

Presently Rolf heard a stealthy step in his garret, the closed door waspushed open, and Mrs. Hubbell's calm, handsome face appeared, as, with areassuring nod, she set down a mug of coffee, some bread, and a bowl ofmush and milk. And only those who have travelled and fasted for twelvehours when they were nineteen know how good it tasted. 

From a tiny window ventilator Rolf had a view of the road in front. A growing din of men prepared him for more troops, but still he wassurprised to see ten regiments march past with all their stores--a bravearmy, but no one could mistake their looks; they wore the despondent airof an army in full retreat. 

Chapter 83. The Last of Sir George Prevost

The battle was over at Plattsburg town, though it had not been fought;for the spirit of MacDonough was on land and water, and it was feltby the British general, as well as the Yankee riflemen, as soon as theUnion Jack had been hauled from the mast of the Confiance. 

Now Sir George Prevost had to face a momentous decision: He couldforce the passage of the Saranac and march on to Albany, but hiscommunications would be cut, and he must rely on a hostile country forsupplies. Every day drew fresh bands of riflemen from the hills. Beforehe could get to Albany their number might exceed his, and then what?Unless Great Britain could send a new army or a fleet to support him, hemust meet the fate of Burgoyne. Prevost proposed to take no such chancesand the night of the 11th eight hours after MacDonough's victory, hegave the order "Retire to Canada. "

To hide the move as long as possible, no change was made till aftersundown; no hint was given to the beleaguered town; they must have noopportunity to reap the enormous advantages, moral and material, ofharrying a retreating foe. They must arise in the morning to find theenemy safely over the border. The plan was perfect, and would have beenliterally carried out, had not he had to deal with a foe as clever ashimself. 

How eagerly Rolf took in the scene on Chazy Road; how much it meant! howhe longed to fly at his fastest famous speed with the stirring news. Intwo hours and a half he could surely let his leader know. And he gazedwith a sort of superior pride at the martial pomp and bravery of theinvaders driven forth. 

Near the last was a gallant array of gentlemen in gorgeous uniformsof scarlet and gold; how warlike they looked, how splendid beside theill-clad riflemen of Vermont and the rude hunters of the Adirondacks. How much more beautiful is an iron sword with jewels, than a sword ofplain gray steel. 

Dame Hubbell stood in her door as they went by. Each and all salutedpolitely; her guard was ordered to join his regiment. The lady wavedher sun-bonnet in response to their courteous good-bye, and could notrefrain from calling out:

"How about my prophecy, Sir George, and those purses?"

Rolf could not see his hostess, but he heard her voice, and he saw theastonishing effect:

The British general reined in his horse. "A gentleman's word is hisbond, madam, " he said. "Let every officer now throw his purse at thelady's feet, " and he set the example. A dozen rattling thuds were heardand a dozen officers saluting, purseless, rode away. 

A round thousand dollars in gold the lady gathered on her porch thatmorning, and to this day her grand-kin tell the tale. 

Chapter 84. Rolf Unmasks the Ambush

Rolf's information was complete now, and all that remained was to reportat Plattsburg. Ten regiments he had counted from his peep hole. Therear guard passed at ten o'clock. At eleven Mrs. Hubbell did a littlescouting and reported that all was quiet as far as she could see bothways, and no enemy in sight anywhere. 

With a grateful hand shake he left the house to cover the fourteen milesthat lay between Chazy and Plattsburg. 

Refreshed and fed, young and strong, the representative of a just andvictorious cause, how he exulted in that run, rejoicing in his youth, his country, his strength, his legs, his fame as a runner. Starting ata stride he soon was trotting; then, when the noon hour came, he hadcovered a good six miles. Now he heard faint, far shots, and going moreslowly was soon conscious that a running fight was on between his ownpeople and the body of British sent westward to hold the upper Saranac. 

True to the instinct of the scout, his first business was to find outexactly what and where they were. From a thick tree top he saw thered-coats spotting an opening of the distant country. Then they werelost sight of in the woods. The desultory firing became volley firing, once or twice. Then there was an interval of silence. At length a massof red-coats appeared on the highway within half a mile. They weretravelling very fast, in full retreat, and were coming his way. On thecrest of the hill over which the road ran, Rolf saw them suddenly dropto the ground and take up position to form a most dangerous ambuscade, and half a mile away, straggling through the woods, running or striding, were the men in the colours he loved. They had swept the enemy beforethem, so far, but trained troops speedily recover from a panic, if theyhave a leader of nerve, and seeing a noble chance in the angle of thisdeep-sunk road, the British fugitives turned like boars at bay. Not asign of them was visible to the Americans. The latter were sufferingfrom too much success. Their usual caution seemed to have deserted them, and trotting in a body they came along the narrow road, hemmed in by aforest and soon to be hedged with cliffs of clay. They were heading fora death-trap. At any price he must warn them. He slid down the tree, andkeeping cover ran as fast as possible toward the ambush. It was the onlyhill near--Beekman's Rise, they call it. As far as possible from thered-coats, but still on the hill that gave a view, he leaped on to ahigh stump and yelled as he never did before: "Go back, go back! Atrap! A trap!" And lifting high his outspread hands he flung their palmstoward his friends, the old-time signal for "go back. "

Not twice did they need warning. Like hunted wolves they flashed fromview in the nearest cover. A harmless volley from the baffled ambushrattled amongst them, and leaping from his stump Rolf ran for life. 

Furious at their failure, a score of red-coats, reloading as they ran, came hot-footed after him. Down into cover of an alder swamp he plunged, and confident of his speed, ran on, dashing through thickets andmudholes. He knew that the red-coats would not follow far in such aplace, and his comrades were near. But the alder thicket ended at afield. He heard the bushes crashing close at hand, and dashed down alittle ravine at whose lower edge the friendly forest recommenced. Thatwas his fatal mistake. The moment he took to the open there was a rattleof rifles from the hill above, and Rolf fell on his face as dead. 

It was after noontide when he fell; he must have lain unconscious foran hour; when he came to himself he was lying still in that hollow, absolutely alone. The red-coats doubtless had continued their flightwith the Yankee boys behind them. His face was covered with blood. Hiscoat was torn and bloody; his trousers showed a ragged rent that wasreddened and sopping. His head was aching, and in his leg was the painof a cripplement. He knew it as soon as he tried to move; his right legwas shattered below the knee. The other shots had grazed his arm andhead; the latter had stunned him for a time, but did no deeper damage. 

He lay still for a long time, in hopes that some of his friendsmight come. He tried to raise his voice, but had no strength. Then heremembered the smoke signal that had saved him when he was lost in thewoods. In spite of his wounded arm, he got out his flint and steel, andprepared to make a fire. But all the small wood he could reach was wetwith recent rains. An old pine stump was on the bank not far away; hemight cut kindling-wood from that to start his fire, and he reached forhis knife. Alas! its case was empty. Had Rolf been four years younger, he might have broken down and wept at this. It did seem such anunnecessary accumulation of disasters. Without gun or knife, how was heto call his friends?

He straightened his mangled limb in the position of least pain and layfor a while. The September sun fell on his back and warmed him. He wasparched with thirst, but only thirty yards away was a little rill. Witha long and fearful crawling on his breast, he dragged himself to thestream and drank till he could drink no more, then rested, washed hishead and hands, 'and tried to crawl again to the warm place. But the sunhad dropped behind the river bank, the little ravine was in shadow, andthe chill of the grave was on the young man's pain-racked frame. 

Shadows crossed his brain, among them Si Sylvanne with his quaintsayings, and one above all was clear:

"Trouble is only sent to make ye do yer best. When ye hev done yer best, keep calm and wait. Things is comin' all right. " Yes, that was what hesaid, and the mockery of it hurt him now. 

The sunset slowly ended; the night wind blew; the dragging hours broughtgloom that entered in. This seemed indeed the direst strait of his lot. Crippled, dying of cold, helpless, nothing to do but wait and die, andfrom his groaning lips there came the half-forgotten prayer his mothertaught him long ago, "O God, have mercy on me!" and then he forgot. 

When he awoke, the stars were shining; he was numb with cold, but hismind was clear. 

"This is war, " he thought, "and God knows we never sought it. " And againthe thought: "When I offered to serve my country, I offered my life. Iam willing to die, but this is not a way of my choosing, " and a blessed, forgetfulness came upon him again. 

But his was a stubborn-fibred race; his spark of life was not so quicklyquenched; its blazing torch might waver, wane, and wax again. In thechill, dark hour when the life-lamp flickers most, he wakened to hearthe sweet, sweet music of a dog's loud bark; in a minute he heard itnearer, and yet again at hand, and Skookum, erratic, unruly, faithfulSkookum, was bounding around and barking madly at the calm, unblinkingstars. 

A human "halloo" rang not far away; then others, and Skookum barked andbarked. 

Now the bushes rustled near, a man came out, kneeled down, laid handon the dying soldier's brow, and his heart. He opened his eyes, the manbent over him and softly said, "Nibowaka! it's Quonab. "

That night when the victorious rangers had returned to Plattsburg itwas a town of glad, thankful hearts, and human love ran strong. The thrilling stories of the day were told, the crucial moment, theprovidential way in which at every hopeless pass, some easy, naturalmiracle took place to fight their battle and back their country's cause. The harrying of the flying rear-guard, the ambuscade over the hill, theappearance of an American scout at the nick of time to warn them--theshooting, and his disappearance--all were discussed. 

Then rollicking Seymour and silent Fiske told of their scouting on thetrail of the beaten foe; and all asked, "Where is Kittering?" So talkwas rife, and there was one who showed a knife he had picked up near theambuscade with R. K. On the shaft. 

Now a dark-faced scout rose up, stared at the knife, and quickly leftthe room. In three minutes he stood before General Macomb, his wordswere few, but from his heart:

"It is my boy, Nibowaka; it is Rolf; my heart tells me. Let me go. Ifeel him praying for me to come. Let me go, general. I must go. "

It takes a great man to gauge the heart of a man who seldom speaks. "Youmay go, but how can you find him tonight?"

"Ugh, I find him, " and the Indian pointed to a little, prick-eared, yellow cur that sneaked at his heels. 

"Success to you; he was one of the best we had, " said the general, asthe Indian left, then added: "Take a couple of men along, and, here, take this, " and he held out a flask. 

Thus it was that the dawning saw Rolf on a stretcher carried by histhree scouting partners, while Skookum trotted ahead, looking this wayand that--they should surely not be ambushed this time. 

And thus the crowning misfortune, the culminating apes of disaster--theloss of his knife--the thing of all others that roused in Rolf thespirit of rebellion, was the way of life, his dungeon's key, the goldenchain that haled him from the pit. 

Chapter 85. The Hospital, the Prisoners, and Home

There were wagons and buckboards to be had, but the road was rough, so the three changed off as litter-bearers and brought him to the lakewhere the swift and smooth canoe was ready, and two hours later theycarried him into the hospital at Plattsburg. 

The leg was set at once, his wounds were dressed, he was warmed, cleaned, and fed; and when the morning sun shone in the room, it was aroom of calm and peace. 

The general came and sat beside him for a time, and the words he spokewere ample, joyful compensation for his wounds. MacDonough, too, passedthrough the ward, and the warm vibrations of his presence drove deathfrom many a bed whose inmate's force ebbed low, whose soul was walkingon the brink, was near surrender. 

Rolf did not fully realize it then, but long afterward it was clear thatthis was the meaning of the well-worn words, "He filled them with a newspirit. "

There was not a man in the town but believed the war was over; there wasnot a man in the town who doubted that his country's cause was won. 

Three weeks is a long time to a youth near manhood, but there was muchof joy to while away the hours. The mothers of the town came and readand talked. There was news from the front. There were victories on thehigh seas. His comrades came to sit beside him; Seymour, the sprinter, as merry a soul as ever hankered for the stage and the red cups of life;Fiske, the silent, and McGlassin, too, with his dry, humorous talk;these were the bright and funny hours. There were others. There came abright-checked Vermont mother whose three sons had died in service atMacDonough's guns; and she told of it in a calm voice, as one who speaksof her proudest honour. Yes, she rejoiced that God had given her threesuch sons, and had taken again His gifts in such a day of glory. HadEngland's rulers only known, that this was the spirit of the land thatspoke, how well they might have asked: "What boots it if we win a fewbattles, and burn a few towns; it is a little gain and passing; forthere is one thing that no armies, ships, or laws, or power on earth, or hell itself can down or crush--that alone is the thing that counts orendures--the thing that permeates these men, that finds its focal centrein such souls as that of the Vermont mother, steadfast, proud, andrejoicing in her bereavement. "

But these were forms that came and went; there were two that seldom wereaway--the tall and supple one of the dark face and the easy tread, andhis yellow shadow--the ever unpopular, snappish, prick-eared cur, thatheld by force of arms all territories at floor level contiguous to, under, comprised, and bounded by, the four square legs and corners ofthe bed. 

Quonab's nightly couch was a blanket not far away, and his daily, self-given task to watch the wounded and try by devious ways and plotsto trick him into eating ever larger meals. 

Garrison duty was light now, so Quonab sought the woods where the flocksof partridge swarmed, with Skookum as his aid. It was the latter'sjoyful duty to find and tree the birds, and "yap" below, till Quonabcame up quietly with bow and blunt arrows, to fill his game-bag; andthus the best of fare was ever by the invalid's bed. 

Rolf's was easily a winning fight from the first, and in a week he waseating well, sleeping well, and growing visibly daily stronger. 

Then on a fleckless dawn that heralded a sun triumphant, the Indianborrowed a drum from the bandsman, and, standing on the highestbreastwork, he gazed across the dark waters to the whitening hills. There on a tiny fire he laid tobacco and kinnikinnik, as Gisiss theShining One burnt the rugged world rim at Vermont, and, tapping softlywith one stick, he gazed upward, after the sacrificial thread of smoke, and sang in his own tongue:

"Father, I burn tobacco, I smoke to Thee. I sing for my heart issinging. "

Pleasant chatter of the East was current by Rolf's bedside. Storiesof homes in the hills he heard, tales of hearths by far away lakes andstreams, memories of golden haired children waiting for father's orbrother's return from the wars. Wives came to claim their husbands, mothers to bring away their boys, to gain again their strength at home. And his own heart went back, and ever back, to the rugged farm on theshores of the noble George. 

In two weeks he was able to sit up. In three he could hobble, and hemoved about the town when the days were warm. 

And now he made the acquaintance of the prisoners. They were closelyguarded and numbered over a hundred. It gave him a peculiar sensationto see them there. It seemed un-American to hold a human captive; buthe realized that it was necessary to keep them for use as hostages andexchanges. 

Some of them he found to be sullen brutes, but many were kind andfriendly, and proved to be jolly good fellows. 

On the occasion of his second visit, a familiar voice saluted him with, "Well, Rolf! Comment ca va?" and he had the painful joy of greetingFrancois la Colle. 

"You'll help me get away, Rolf, won't you?" and the little Frenchmanwhispered and winked. "I have seven little ones now on La Riviere, dathave no flour, and tinks dere pa is dead. "

"I'll do all I can, Francois, " and the picture of the desolate home, brought a husk in his voice and a choke in his throat. He remembered toothe musket ball that by intent had whistled harmless overhead. "But, " headded in a shaky voice, "I cannot help my country's enemy to escape. "

Then Rolf took counsel with McGlassin, told him all about the affairat the mill, and McGlassin with a heart worthy of his mighty shoulders, entered into the spirit of the situation, went to General Macombpresenting such a tale and petition that six hours later Francis bearinga passport through the lines was trudging away to Canada, paroled forthe rest of the war. 

There was another face that Rolf recognized--hollow-cheeked, flabby-jowled and purplish-gray. The man was one of the oldest of theprisoners. He wore a white beard end moustache. He did not recognizeRolf, but Rolf knew him, for this was Micky Kittering. How he escapedfrom jail and joined the enemy was an episode of the war's first year. Rolf was shocked to see what a miserable wreck his uncle was. He couldnot do him any good. To identify him would have resulted in his beingtreated as a renegade, so on the plea that he was an old man, Rolf sawthat the prisoner had extra accommodation and out of his own pocket kepthim abundantly supplied with tobacco. Then in his heart he forgave him, and kept away. They never met again. 

The bulk of the militia had been disbanded after the great battle. Afew of the scouts and enough men to garrison the fort and guard theprisoners were retained. Each day there were joyful partings--the menwith homes, going home. And the thought that ever waxed in Rolf came onin strength. He hobbled to headquarters. "General, can I get leave--togo--he hesitated--home?"

"Why, Kittering, I didn't know you had a home. But, certainly, I'll giveyou a month's leave and pay to date. "

Champlain is the lake of the two winds; the north wind blows for sixmonths with a few variations, and the south wind for the other sixmonths with trifling. 

Next morning a bark canoe was seen skimming southward before as muchnorth wind as it could stand, with Rolf reclining in the middle, Quonabat the stern, and Skookum in the bow. 

In two days they were at Ticonderoga. Here help was easily got atthe portage and on the evening of the third day, Quonab put a rope onSkookum's neck and they landed at Hendrik's farm. 

The hickory logs were blazing bright, and the evening pot was reeking asthey opened the door and found the family gathered for the meal. 

"I didn't know you had a home, " the general had said. He should havebeen present now to see the wanderer's welcome. If war breeds such aspirit in the land, it is as much a blessing as a curse. The air wasfull of it, and the Van Trumpers, when they saw their hero hobble in, were melted. Love, pity, pride, and tenderness were surging in stormsthrough every heart that knew. "Their brother, their son come back, wounded, but proven and glorious. " Yes, Rolf had a home, and in thatintoxicating realization he kissed them all, even Annette of the glowingcheeks and eyes; though in truth he paid for it, for it conjured up inher a shy aloofness that lasted many days. 

Old Hendrik sputtered around. "Och, I am smile; dis is goood, yah. Vereis that tam dog? Yah! tie him not, he shall dis time von chicken havefor joy. "

"Marta, " said Rolf, "you told me to come here if I got hurt. Well, I'vecome, and I've brought a boat-load of stuff in case I cannot do my sharein the fields. "

"Press you, my poy you didn't oughter brung dot stuff; you know weloff you here, and effery time it is you coom I get gladsomer, and dotAnnette she just cried ven you vent to de war. "

"Oh, mother, I did not; it was you and little Hendrick!" and Annetteturned her scarlet cheeks away. 

October, with its trees of flame and gold, was on the hills; purple andorange, the oaks and the birches; blue blocked with white was the skyabove, and the blue, bright lake was limpid. 

"Oh, God of my fathers, " Quonab used to pray, "when I reach the HappyHunting, let it be ever the Leaf-falling Moon, for that is the onlyperfect time. " And in that unmarred month of sunny sky and woodlandspurged of every plague, there is but one menace in the vales. For whocan bring the glowing coal to the dry-leafed woods without these twobegetting the dread red fury that devastates the hills?

Who can bring the fire in touch with tow and wonder at the blaze? Who, indeed? And would any but a dreamer expect young manhood in its growingstrength, and girlhood just across the blush-line, to meet in dailymeals and talk and still keep up the brother and sister play? It needsonly a Virginia on the sea-girt island to turn the comrade into Paul. 

"Marta, I tink dot Rolf an Annette don't quarrel bad, ain't it?"

"Hendrik, you vas von blind old bat-mole, " said Marta, "I fink dat farmnext ours purty good, but Rolf he say 'No Lake George no good. ' Betterhe like all his folk move over on dat Hudson. "

Chapter 86. The New Era of Prosperity

As November neared and his leave of absence ended, Rolf was himselfagain; had been, indeed, for two weeks, and, swinging fork or axe, hehad helped with many an urgent job on the farm. 

A fine log stable they had rolled up together, with corners dovetailedlike cabinet work, and roof of birch bark breadths above the hay. 

But there was another building, too, that Rolf had worked at night andday. It was no frontier shack, but a tall and towering castle, splendidand roomy, filled with loved ones and love. Not by the lake near by, not by the river of his choice, but higher up than the tops of the highmountains it loomed, and he built and built until the month was nearlygone. Then only did he venture to ask for aid, and Annette it was whopromised to help him finish the building. 

Yes, the Lake George shore was a land of hungry farms. It was off theline of travel, too. It was neither Champlain nor Hudson; and Hendrik, after ten years' toil with barely a living to show, was easilyconvinced. Next summer they must make a new choice of home. But now itwas back to Plattsburg. 

On November 1st Rolf and Quonab reported to General Macomb. There waslittle doing but preparations for the winter. There were no prospects offurther trouble from their neighbours in the north. Most of the militiawere already disbanded, and the two returned to Plattsburg, only toreceive their honourable discharge, to be presented each with the medalof war, with an extra clasp on Rolf's for that dauntless dash thatspiked the British guns. 

Wicked war with its wickedness was done at last. "The greatest evil thatcan befall a country, " some call it, and yet out of this end came threegreat goods: The interstate distrust had died away, for now they weresoldiers who had camped together, who had "drunk from the same canteen";little Canada, until then a thing of shreds and scraps, had been fusedin the furnace, welded into a young nation, already capable of defendingher own. England, arrogant with long success at sea, was taught a lessonof courtesy and justice, for now the foe whom she had despised andinsulted had shown himself her equal, a king of the sea-king stock. Theunnecessary battle of New Orleans, fought two weeks after the war wasofficially closed, showed that the raw riflemen of Tennessee weremore than a match for the seasoned veterans who had overcome the greatNapoleon, and thus on land redeemed the Stars and Stripes. 

The war brought unmeasured material loss on all concerned, but someweighty lasting gains to two at least. On December 24, 1814, the Treatyof Ghent was signed and the long rides were hung up on the cabin walls. Nothing was said in the treaty about the cause of war--the right ofsearch. Why should they speak of it? If a big boy bullies a smaller oneand gets an unexpected knockdown blow, it is not necessary to have itall set forth in terms before they shake hands that "I, John, of thefirst part, to wit, the bully, do hereby agree, promise, and contract torefrain in future forevermore from bullying you, Jonathan, of the secondpart, to wit, the bullied. " That point had already been settled by thelogic of events. The right of search was dead before the peace was born, and the very place of its bones is forgotten to-day. 

Rolf with Quonab returned to the trapping that winter; and as soon asthe springtime came and seeding was over, he and Van Trumper made theirchoice of farms. Every dollar they could raise was invested in thebeautiful sloping lands of the upper Hudson. Rolf urged the largestpossible purchase now. Hendrick looked somewhat aghast at such abridge-burning move. But a purchaser for his farm was found withunexpected promptness, one who was not on farming bent and the way keptopening up. 

The wedding did not take place till another year, when Annette wasnineteen and Rolf twenty-one. And the home they moved to was not exactlya castle, but much more complete and human. 

This was the beginning of a new settlement. Given good land in plenty, and all the rest is easy; neighbours came in increasing numbers; everyclaim was taken up; Rolf and Hendrik saw themselves growing rich, andat length the latter was thankful for the policy that he once thought sorash, of securing all the land he could. Now it was his making, for inlater years his grown-up sons were thus provided for, and kept at home. 

The falls of the river offered, as Rolf had foreseen, a noble chance forpower. Very early he had started a store and traded for fur. Now, withthe careful savings, he was able to build his sawmill; and about it grewa village with a post-office that had Rolf's name on the signboard. 

Quonab had come, of course, with Rolf, but he shunned the house, and themore so as it grew in size. In a remote and sheltered place he built awigwam of his own. 

Skookum was divided in his allegiance, but he solved the puzzle bydividing his time between them. He did not change much, but he didrise in a measure to the fundamental zoological fact that hens are notpartridges; and so acquired a haughty toleration of the cackle-partythrong that assembled in the morning at Annette's call. Yes, he madeeven another step of progress, for on one occasion he valiantly routedthe unenlightened dog of a neighbour, a "cur of low degree, " whose ideasof ornithology were as crude as his own had been in the beginning. 

All of which was greatly to his credit, for he found it hard to learnnow; he was no longer young, and before he had seen eight springsdissolve the snow, he was called to the Land of Happy Hunting, where theporcupine is not, but where hens abound on every side, and there is noman near to meddle with his joy. 

Yet, when he died, he lived. His memory was kept ever green, for SkookumNumber 2 was there to fill his room, and he gave place to Skookum 3, andso they keep their line on to this very day. 

Quonab Goes Home

The public has a kind of crawlin' common-sense, that is always right andfair in the end, only it's slow--Sayings of Si Sylvanne. 

Twenty years went by. Rolf grew and prospered. He was a man of substanceand of family now; for store and mill were making money fast, and thelittle tow-tops came at regular intervals. 

And when the years had added ripeness to his thought, and the kindgods of gold had filled his scrip, it was that his ampler life began tobloom. His was a mind of the best begetting, born and bred of ancient, clean-blooded stock; inflexibly principled, trained by a God-fearingmother, nurtured in a cradle of adversity, schooled in a school ofhardship, developed in the big outdoors, wise in the ways of the woods, burnt in the fire of affliction, forced into self-reliance, inspiredwith the lofty inspiration of sacrificial patriotism--the good stuffof his make-up shone, as shines the gold in the fervent heat; the hardblows that prove or crush, had proved; the metal had rung true; and inthe great valley, Rolf Kittering was a man of mark. 

The country's need of such is ever present and ever seeking. Those inpower who know and measure men soon sought him out, and their messengerwas the grisly old Si Sylvanne. 

Because he was a busy man, Rolf feared to add to his activities. Becausehe was a very busy man, the party new they needed him. So at length itwas settled, and in a little while, Rolf stood in the Halls of Albanyand grasped the hand of the ancient mill-man as a colleague, filling anhonoured place in the councils of the state. 

Each change brought him new activities. Each year he was more of apublic man, and his life grew larger. From Albany he went to New York, in the world of business and men's affairs; and at last in Washington, his tall, manly figure was well known, and his good common-sense andclean business ways were respected. Yet each year during hunting time hemanaged to spend a few weeks with Quonab in the woods. Tramping on theirancient trapping grounds, living over the days of their early hunts;and double zest was added when Rolf the second joined them and lived andloved it all. 

But this was no longer Kittering's life, rather the rare precariousinterval, and more and more old Quonab realized that they were meetingonly in the past. When the big house went up on the river-bank, heindeed had felt that they were at the parting of the ways. His respectfor Nibowaka had grown to be almost a worship, and yet he knew thattheir trails had yearly less in common. Rolf had outgrown him; he wasalone again, as on the day of their meeting. His years had brought acertain insight; and this he grasped--that the times were changed, andhis was the way of a bygone day. 

"Mine is the wisdom of the woods, " he said, "but the woods are goingfast; in a few years there will be no more trees, and my wisdom willbe foolishness. There is in this land now a big, strong thing called'trade, ' that will eat up all things and the people themselves. You arewise enough, Nibowaka, to paddle with the stream, you have turned so thebig giant is on your side, and his power is making you great. But thisis not for me; so only I have enough to eat, and comfort to sleep, I amcontent to watch for the light. "

Across the valley from the big store he dwelt, in a lodge from which hecould easily see the sunrise. Twenty-five years added to the fifty hespent in the land of Mayn Mayano had dimmed his eye, had robbed his footof its spring, and sprinkled his brow with the winter rime; but they hadnot changed his spirit, nor taught him less to love the pine woodsand the sunrise. Yes, even more than in former days did he take hissong-drum to the rock of worship, to his idaho--as the western red manwould have called it. And there, because it was high and the wind blewcold, he made a little eastward-facing lodge. 

He was old and hunting was too hard for him, but there was a strongarm about him now; he dimly thought of it at times--the arm of thefifteen-year-old boy that one time he had shielded. There was no lackof food or blankets in the wigwam, or of freedom in the woods under thesun-up rock. But there was a hunger that not farseeing Nibowaka couldappease, not even talk about. And Quonab built another medicine lodgeto watch the sun go down over the hill. Sitting by a little fire totune his song-drum, he often crooned to the blazing skies. "I am of thesunset now, I and my people, " he sang, "the night is closing over us. "

One day a stranger came to the hills; his clothes were those of a whiteman, but his head, his feet, and his eyes--his blood, his walk, and hissoul were those of a red Indian of the West. He came from the unknownwith a message to those who knew him not: "The Messiah was coming; thedeliverer that Hiawatha bade them look for. He was coming in powerto deliver the red race, and his people must sing the song of theghost-dance till the spirit came, and in a vision taught them wisdom andhis will!"

Not to the white man, but to the lonely Indian in the hill cleft hecame, and the song that he brought and taught him was of a sorrowingpeople seeking their father. 

"Father have pity on us! Our souls are hungry for Thee. There is nothinghere to satisfy us Father we bow to Thy will. "

By the fire that night they sang, and prayed as the Indianprays--"Father have pity and guide us. " So Quonab sang the new song, andknew its message was for him. 

The stranger went on, for he was a messenger, but Quonab sang again andagain, and then the vision came, as it must, and the knowledge that hesought. 

None saw him go, but ten miles southward on the river he met a hunterand said: "Tell the wise one that I have heard the new song. Tell himI have seen the vision. We are of the sunset, but the new day comes. Imust see the land of Mayn Mayano, the dawn-land, where the sun rises outof the sea. "

They saw no more of him. But a day later, Rolf heard of it, and set outin haste next morning for Albany. Skookum the fourth leaped into thecanoe as he pushed off. Rolf was minded to send him back, but the dogbegged hard with his eyes and tail. It seemed he ought to go, when itwas the old man they sought. At Albany they got news. "Yes, the Indianwent on the steamboat a few days ago. " At New York, Rolf made no attemptto track his friend, but took the Stamford boat and hurried to the oldfamiliar woods, where he had lived and suffered and wakened as a boy. 

There was a house now near the rock that is yet called "Quonab's. " Fromthe tenants he learned that in the stillest hours of the night before, they had heard the beating of an Indian drum, and the cadence of a chantthat came not from throat of white man's blood. 

In the morning when it was light Rolf hastened to the place, expectingto find at least an Indian camp, where once had stood the lodge. Therewas no camp; and as he climbed for a higher view, the Skookum of to-daygave bristling proof of fear at some strange object there--a man thatmoved not. His long straight hair was nearly white, and by his side, forever still, lay the song-drum of his people. 

And those who heard the mournful strains the night before knew now fromRolf that it was Ouonab come back to his rest, and the song that he sangwas the song of the ghost dance. 

"Pity me, Wahkonda. My soul is ever hungry. There is nothing here tosatisfy me, I walk in darkness; Pity me, Wahkondal. "