Rolf In The Woods by Ernest Thompson Seton (most popular ebook readers .txt) 📖

To Have The

Chimney Large Enough,  And The Narrowest Point Just Above The Fire.

 

The Eaves Logs,  End Logs,  And Ridge Logs Were Soon In Place; Then

Came The Cutting Of Small Poles,  Spruce And Tamarack,  Long Enough

To Reach From Ridge To Eaves,  And In Sufficient Number To

Completely Cover The Roof.  A Rank Sedge Meadow Near By Afforded

Plenty Of Coarse Grass With Which The Poles Were Covered Deeply;

And Lastly Clay Dug Out With A Couple Of Hand-Made,  Axe-Hewn

Wooden Spades Was Thrown Evenly On The Grass To A Depth Of Six

Inches; This,  When Trampled Flat,  Made A Roof That Served Them Well.

 

The Chinks Of The Logs When Large Were Filled With Split Pieces

Of Wood; When Small They Were Plugged With Moss. A Door Was Made

Of Hewn Planks,  And Hinged Very Simply On Two Pins; One Made By

Letting The Plank Project As A Point,  The Other By Nailing On A

Pin After The Door Was Placed; Both Pins Fitting,  Of Course,  Into

Inch Auger Holes.

 

A Floor Was Not Needed,  But Bed Bunks Were,  And In Making These

They Began Already To Realize That The Cabin Was Too Small.  But

Now After A Week's Work It Was Done. It Had A Sweet Fragrance Of

Wood And Moss,  And The Pleasure It Gave To Rolf At Least Was

Something He Never Again Could Expect To Find In Equal Measure

About Any Other Dwelling He Might Make.

 

Quonab Laid The Fire Carefully,  Then Lighted His Pipe,  Sang A

Little Crooning Song About The "Home Spirits," Which We Call

"Household Gods," Walked Around The Shanty,  Offering The Pipestem

To Each Of The Four Winds In Turn,  Then Entering Lighted The Flre

From His Pipe,  Threw Some Tobacco And Deer Hair On The Blaze,  And

The House-Warming Was Ended.

 

Nevertheless,  They Continued To Sleep In The Tent They Had Used

All Along,  For Quonab Loved Not The Indoors,  And Rolf Was Growing

Daily More Of His Mind.

 

Chapter 21 (Rolf's First Deer)

Anxious To Lose No Fine Day They Had Worked Steadily On The

Shanty,  Not Even Going After The Deer That Were Seen Occasionally

Over The Lake,  So That Now They Were Out Of Fresh Meat,  And Rolf

Saw A Chance He Long Had Looked For.  "Quonab,  I Want To Go Out

Alone And Get A Deer,  And I Want Your Gun.

 

"Ugh! You Shall Go.  To-Night Is Good."

 

"To-Night" Meant Evening,  So Rolf Set Out Alone As Soon As The

Sun Was Low,  For During The Heat Of The Day The Deer Are Commonly

Lying In Some Thicket.  In General,  He Knew Enough To Travel Up

Wind,  And To Go As Silently As Possible.  The Southwest Wind Was

Blowing Softly,  And So He Quickened His Steps Southwesterly Which

Meant Along The Lake.  Tracks And Signs Abounded; It Was

Impossible To Follow Any One Trail.  His Plan Was To Keep On

Silently,  Trusting To Luck,  Nor Did He Have Long To Wait.  Across

A Little Opening Of The Woods To The West He Saw A Movement In

The Bushes,  But It Ceased,  And He Was In Doubt Whether The

Creature,  Presumably A Deer,  Was Standing There Or Had Gone On.

"Never Quit Till You Are Sure," Was One Of Quonab's Wise Adages.

Rolf Was Bound To Know What It Was That Had Moved.  So He Stood

Still And Waited.  A Minute Passed; Another; Many; A Long Time;

And Still He Waited,  But Got No Further Sign Of Life From The

Bush. Then He Began To Think He Was Mistaken; Yet It Was Good

Huntercraft To Find Out What That Was.  He Tried The Wind Several

Times,  First By Wetting His Finger,  Which Test Said "Southwest";

Second,  By Tossing Up Some Handfuls Of Dried Grass,  Which Said

"Yes,  Southwest,  But Veering Southerly In This Glade." So He Knew

He Might Crawl Silentlv To The North Side Of That Bush.  He

Looked To The Priming Of His Gun And Began A Slow And Stealthy

Stalk,  Selecting Such Openings As Might Be Passed Without Effort

Or Movement Of Bushes Or Likelihood Of Sound.  He Worked His Way

Step By Step; Each Time His Foot Was Lifted He Set It Down Again

Only After Trying The Footing.  At Each Step He Paused To Look

And Listen.  It Was Only One Hundred Yards To The Interesting

Spot,  But Rolf Was Fifteen Minutes In Covering The Distance,  And

More Than Once,  He Got A Great Start As A Chicadee Flew Out Or A

Woodpecker Tapped.  His Heart Beat Louder And Louder,  So It

Seemed Everything Near Must Hear; But He Kept On His Careful

Stalk,  And At Last Had Reached The Thicket That Had Given Him

Such Thrills And Hopes.  Here He Stood And Watched For A Full

Minute.  Again He Tried The Wind,  And Proceeded To Circle Slowly

To The West Of The Place.

 

After A Long,  Tense Crawl Of Twenty Yards He Came On The Track

And Sign Of A Big Buck,  Perfectly Fresh,  And Again His Heart

Worked Harder; It Seemed To Be Pumping His Neck Full Of Blood,  So

He Was Choking.  He Judged It Best To Follow This Hot Trail For A

Time,  And Holding His Gun Ready Cocked He Stepped Softly Onward.

A Bluejay Cried Out,  "Jay,  Jay!" With Startling Loudness,  And

Seemingly Enjoyed His Pent-Up Excitement.  A Few Steps Forward At

Slow,  Careful Stalk,  And Then Behind Him He Heard A Loud

Whistling Hiss.  Instantly Turning He Found Himself Face To Face

With A Great,  Splendid Buck In The Short Blue Coat.  There Not

Thirty Yards Away He Stood,  The Creature He Had Been Stalking So

Long,  In Plain View Now,  Broadside On.  They Gazed Each At The

Other,  Perfectly Still For A Few Seconds,  Then Rolf Without Undue

Movement Brought The Gun To Bear,  And Still The Buck Stood

Gazing.  The Gun Was Up,  But Oh,  How Disgustingly It Wabbled And

Shook! And The Steadier Rolf Tried To Bold It,  The More It

Trembled,  Until From That Wretched Gun The Palsy Spread All Over

His Body; His Breath Came Tremulously,  His Legs And Arms Were

Shaking,  And At Last,  As The Deer Moved Its Head To Get A Better

View And Raised Its Tail,  The Lad,  Making An Effort At

Selfcontrol,  Pulled The Trigger.  Bang! And The Buck Went Lightly

Bounding Out Of Sight.

 

Poor Rolf; How Disgusted He Felt; Positively Sick With

Self-Contempt.   Thirty Yards,  Standing,  Broadside On,  Full

Daylight,  A Big Buck,  A Clean Miss.  Yes,  There Was The Bullet

Hole In A Tree,  Five Feet Above The Deer's Head. "I'm No Good;

I'll Never Be A Hunter," He Groaned,  Then Turned And Slowly

Tramped Back To Camp.  Quonab Looked Inquiringly,  For,  Of Course,

He Heard The Shot.  He Saw A Glum And Sorry-Looking Youth,  Who In

Response To His Inquiring Look Gave Merely A Head-Shake,  And Hung

Up The Gun With A Vicious Bang.

 

Quonab Took Down The Gun,  Wiped It Out,  Reloaded It,  Then Turning

To The Boy Said: "Nibowaka,  You Feel Pretty Sick.  Ugh! You Know

Why?  You Got A Good Chance,  But You Got Buck Fever.  It Is

Always So,  Every One The First Time.  You Go Again To-Morrow And

You Get Your Deer."

 

Rolf Made No Reply.  So Quonab Ventured,  "You Want Me To Go?"

That Settled It For Rolf; His Pride Was Touched.

 

"No; I'll Go Again In The Morning."

 

In The Dew Time He Was Away Once More On The Hunting  Trail.

There Was No Wind,  But The Southwest Was The Likeliest To Spring

Up.  So He Went Nearly Over His Last Night's Track.  He Found It

Much Easier To Go Silently Now When All The World Was Dew Wet,

And Travelled Quickly. Past The Fateful Glade He Went,  Noted

Again The Tree Torn Several Feet Too High Up,  And On.  Then The

Cry Of A Bluejay Rang Out; This Is Often A Notification Of Deer

At Hand.  It Always Is Warning Of Something Doing,  And No Wise

Hunter Ignores It.

 

Rolf Stood For A Moment Listening And Peering.  He Thought He

Heard A Scraping Sound; Then Again The Bluejay,  But The Former

Ceased And The Jay-Note Died In The Distance.  He Crept

Cautiously On Again For A Few Minutes; Another Opening Appeared.

He Studied This From A Hiding Place; Then Far Across He Saw A

Little Flash Near The Ground. His Heart Gave A Jump; He Studied

The Place,  Saw Again The Flash And Then Made Out The Head Of A

Deer,  A Doe That Was Lying In The Long Grass.  The Flash Was Made

By Its Ear Shaking Off A Fly.  Rolf Looked To His Priming,  Braced

Himself,  Got Fully Ready,  Then Gave A Short,  Sharp Whistle;

Instantly The Doe Rose To Her Feet; Then Another Appeared,  A

Sinal One; Then A Young Buck; All Stood Gazing His Way.

 

Up Went The Gun,  But Again Its Muzzle Began To Wabble. Rolf

Lowered It,  Said Grimly And Savagely To Himself,  "I Will Not

Shake This Time."  The Deer Stretched Themselves And Began Slowly

Walking Toward The Lake.  All Had Disappeared But The Buck.  Rolf

Gave Another Whistle That Turned The Antler-Bearer To A Statue.

Controlling Himself With A Strong "I Will," He Raised The Gun,

Held It Steadily,  And Fired.  The Buck Gave A Gathering Spasm,  A

Bound,  And Disappeared.  Rolf Felt Sick Again With Disgust,  But

He Reloaded,  Then Hastily Went Forward.

 

There Was The Deep Imprint Showing Where The Buck Had Bounded At

The Shot,  But No Blood.  He Followed,  And A Dozen Feet Away Found

The Next Hoof Marks And On Them A Bright-Red Stain; On And

Another Splash; And More And Shortening Bounds,  Till One Hundred

Yards Away - Yes,  There It Lay; The Round,  Gray Form,  Quite Dead,

Shot Through The Heart.                       I

 

Rolf Gave A Long,  Rolling War Cry And Got An Answer From A Point

That Was Startlingly Near,  And Quonab Stepped From Behind A Tree.

 

"I Got Him," Shouted Rolf.

 

The Indian Smiled.  "I Knew You Would,  So I Followed; Last Night

I Knew You Must Have Your Shakes,  So Let You Go It Alone."

 

Very Carefully That Deer Was Skinned,  And Rolf Learned The Reason

For Many Little Modes Of Procedure.

 

After The Hide Was Removed From The Body (Not The Hand Or Legs),

Quonab Carefully Cut Out The-Broad Sheath Of Tendon That Cover

The Muscles,  Beginning At The Hip Bones On The Back And Extending

Up To The Shoulders; This Is The Sewing Sinew.  Then He Cut Out

The Two Long Fillets Of Meat That Lie On Each Side Of The Spine

Outside (The Loin) And The Two Smaller Ones Inside (The

Tenderloin).

 

These,  With The Four Quarters,  The Heart,  And The Kidneys,  Were

Put Into The Hide.  The Entrails,  Head,  Neck,  Legs,  Feet,  He Left

For The Foxes,  But The Hip Bone Or Sacrum He Hung In A Tree With

Three Little Red Yarns From Them,  So That The Great Spirit Would

Be Pleased And Send Good Hunting.  Then Addressing The Head He

Said: "Little Brother,  Forgive Us.  We Are Sorry To Kill You.

Behold! We Give You The Honour Of Red Streamers."  Then Bearing

The Rest They Tramped Back To Camp.

 

The Meat Wrapped In Sacks To Keep Off The Flies Was Hung In The

Shade,  But The Hide He Buried In The Warm Mud Of A Swamp Hole,

And Three Days Later,  When The Hair Began To Slip,  He Scraped It

Clean.  A Broad Ash Wood Hoop He Had Made Ready And When The

Green Rawhide Was Strained On It Again The Indian Had An Indian

Drum.

 

It Was Not Truly Dry For Two Or Three Days And As It Tightened On

Its Frame It Gave Forth Little Sounds Of Click And Shrinkage That

Told Of The Strain The Tensioned Rawhide Made.  Quonab Tried It

That Night As He Sat By The Fire Softly Singing:

 

"Ho Da Ho-He Da He."

 

But The Next Day Before Sunrise He Climbed The Hill And Sitting

On The Sun-Up Rock He Hailed The Day God With The Invocation,  As

He Had Not Sung It Since The Day They Left The Great Rock Above

The Asalnuk,  And Followed With The Song:

 

"Father,  We Thank Thee; We Have Found The Good Hunting. There Is

Meat In The Wigwam."