Rolf in the Woods. Ernest Thompson Seton
as the Frenchmen came in there, and they were keen hunters, so that Hamilton County was more promising than any other, but it was almost inaccessible, remote from all the great waterways, and of course without roads; its inaccessibility was the reason why it was little known. So far so good; but happy Hendrik was unpleasantly surprised to learn that the new help were for leaving at once. Finally he made this offer: If they would stay till September first, and so leave all in “good shape fer der vinter,” he would, besides the wages agreed, give them the canoe, 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 Lake George to Schroon River, down which they could go to its junction with the upper Hudson, which, followed up through forty miles of rapids and hard portages, would bring them to a swampy river that enters from the southwest, and ten miles up this would bring them to Jesup's Lake, which is two miles wide and twelve miles long. This country abounded with game, 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 off some weighty patches of bark and canvas and some massive timber thwarts, repaired the ribs, and when dry and gummed, its weight was below one hundred pounds; a saving of at least forty pounds on the soggy thing he crossed 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 song of the new dawn, beating, not with a tom-tom—he had none—but with one stick on another. And when the sunrise possessed the earth he sang again the 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 feet barely raised, but rythmically moved. So went he three times round to the chant in three sun circles, dancing a sacred measure, as royal David might have done that day when he danced around the Ark of the Covenant on its homeward joumey. His face was illumined, and no man could have seen him then without knowing that this was a true heart's worship of a true 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 neighbours whenever needed to take a team across the lake. On the morning of their journey, the Dutchman's team and wagon, the canoe and the men, were aboard the scow, Skookum took his proper place at the prow, and all was ready for “Goodbye.” Rolf found it a hard word to say. The good old Dutch mother had won his heart, and the children were like his brothers and sisters.
“Coom again, lad; coom and see us kvick.” She kissed him, he kissed Annette and the three later issues. They boarded the scow to ply the poles till the deep water was reached, then the oars. An east wind springing up gave them a chance to profit by a wagon-cover rigged as a sail, 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 Schroon River.
As they approached the door, they saw a rough-looking man slouching against the building, his hands in his pockets, his blear eyes taking in the new-comers with a look of contemptuous hostility. As they passed, he spat 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 was a good friend of Hendrik and very keen to trade for fur, so the new trappers 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 and added to Hendrik's account.
“If I was you, I'd take a windy-sash; you'll find it mighty convenient in cold weather.” The store keeper led them into an outhouse where was a pile of six-lighted window-frames all complete. So the awkward thing was added to their load.
“Can't I sell you a fine rifle?” and he took down a new, elegant small bore of the latest pattern. “Only twenty-five dollars.” Rolf shook his head; “part down, and I'll take the rest in fur next spring.” Rolf was sorely tempted; however, he had an early instilled horror of debt. He steadfastly said: “No.” But many times he regretted it afterward! The small balance remaining was settled in cash.
As they were arranging and selecting, they heard a most hideous yelping outdoors, and a minute later Skookum limped in, crying as if half-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 in again.
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 as the 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 fur from the stuff I got last year.”
“I don't expect to,” was the reply; “I've learned what your word's worth.” 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 trapper and a big bit of a bum; stuck me last year. He doesn't come out this way; they say he goes out by the west side of the mountains.”
New light on their course was secured from Warren, and above all, the important information that the mouth of Jesup's River was marked by an eagle's nest in a dead pine. “Up to that point keep the main stream, and don't forget next spring I'm buying fur.”
The drive across Five-mile portage was slow. It took over two hours to cover it, but late that day they reached the Schroon.
Here the Dutchman said “Good-bye: Coom again some noder time.” Skookum saluted the farmer with a final growl, then Rolf and Quonab were left alone in the wilderness.
It was after sundown, so they set about camping for the night. A wise camper always prepares bed and shelter in daylight, if possible. While Rolf made a fire and hung the kettle, Quonab selected a level, dry place between 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 pole between the trees. The ends of the covers were held down by loose green logs quickly cut for the purpose, and now they were safe against weather.
Tea, potatoes, and fried pork, with maple syrup and hard-tack, made their meal of the time, after which there was a long smoke. Quonab took a stick of red willow, picked up-in the daytime, and began shaving it toward one end, leaving the curling shreds still on the stick. When these were bunched in a fuzzy mop, he held them over the fire until they were 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 smoke called the “Indian smell,” by many who do not know whence or how it comes. Rolf did not smoke. He had promised his mother that he would not until he was a man, and something brought her back home now with overwhelming force; that was the beds they had made of fragrant balsam boughs. “Cho-ko-tung or blister tree” as Quonab called it. His mother had a little sofa pillow, brought from the North—a “northern pine” pillow they called it, for it was stuffed with pine needles of a kind not growing in Connecticut. Many a time had Rolf as a baby pushed his little round nose into that bag to inhale the delicious odour it gave forth, and so it became the hallowed smell of all that was dear in his babyhood,