If you excel in these three things, you can down your partridge and
squirrel 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 in
the woods where there is game.

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

For those, then, who think themselves hunters and woodmen, let this be
a test and standard: Can you go forth alone into the wilderness where
there is game, take only a bow and arrows for weapons, and travel afoot
250 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 had
not set it somewhere facing the lake, but he soon learned that it is
best to have the morning sun, the afternoon shade, and shelter from the
north and west winds.

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

That day the sun came up in a red sky, but soon was lost to view in a
heavy cloud-bank. There was no wind, and, as the morning passed, the day
grew hotter and closer. Quonab prepared for a storm; but it came with
unexpected force, and a gale of wind from the northwest that would
indeed have wrecked the lodge, but for the great sheltering rock. Under
its lea there was hardy a breeze; but not fifty yards away were two
trees that rubbed together, and in the storm they rasped so violently
that 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 not
for the flood that rushed over the face of the cliff, soaking everything
in the lodge except the beds, which, being four inches off the ground,
were safe; and lying on them the two campers waited patiently, or
impatiently, while the weather raged for two drenching hours. And then
the pouring became a pattering; the roaring, a swishing; the storm, a
shower which died away, leaving changing patches of blue in the lumpy
sky, and all nature calm and pleased, but oh, so wet! Of course the fire
was out in the lodge and nearly all the wood was wet. Now Quonab drew
from a small cave some dry cedar and got down his tinder-box with flint
and steel to light up; but a serious difficulty appeared at once--the
tinder was wet and useless.

These were the days before matches were invented. Every one counted on
flint and steel for their fire, but the tinder was an essential, and now
a 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 taught
our fathers, and so make we fire when the tricks of the white man fail
us."

Quonab now cut two pieces of dry cedar, one three fourths of an inch
thick and eighteen inches long, round, and pointed at both ends; the
other five eighths of an inch thick and flat. In the flat one he cut a
notch and at the end of the notch a little pit. Next he made a bow of
a stiff, curved stick, and a buckskin thong: a small pine knot was
selected and a little pit made in it with the point of a knife. These
were the fare-making sticks, but it was necessary to prepare the
firewood, lay the fire, and make some fibre for tinder. A lot of fine
cedar shavings, pounded up with cedar bark and rolled into a two-inch
ball, made good tinder, and all was ready. Quonab put the bow thong once
around 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 and
forth, slowly, steadily, till the long stick or drill revolving ground
smoking black dust out of the notch. Then faster, until the smoke was
very strong and the powder filled the notch. Then he lifted the flat
stick, fanning the powder with his hands till a glowing coal appeared.
Over this he put the cedar tinder and blew gently, till it flamed, and
soon the wigwam was aglow.

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

This is the ancient way of the Indian; Rolf had often heard of it as a
sort of semi-myth; never before had he seen it, and so far as he could
learn from the books, it took an hour or two of hard work, not a few
deft 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 had
forgotten how, thanks to the greater portability of the white man's
flint and steel.

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

"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, and
many more. Only two trees have I never seen struck, the balsam and the
birch."

"Why do they escape?"

"My father told me when I was a little boy it was because they sheltered
and 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 apt
to lose their charm. Even fish did not entirely satisfy the craving for
flesh meat. So Quonab and Rolf set out one morning on a regular hunt for
food. The days of big game were over on the Asamuk, but there were still
many small kinds and none more abundant than the woodchuck, hated of
farmers. Not without reason. Each woodchuck hole in the field was a
menace to the horses' legs. Tradition, at least, said that horses' legs
and riders' necks had been broken by the steed setting foot in one of
these dangerous pitfalls: besides which, each chuck den was the hub
centre of an area of desolation whenever located, as mostly it was, in
the 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 the
Indian's hunting quail on his land, he always welcomed him as a killer
of woodchucks.

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

Rolf watched eagerly when Quonab, taking his bow and arrows, said they
were going out for a meat hunt. Although there were several fields
with woodchucks resident, they passed cautiously from one to another,
scanning the green expanse for the dark-brown spots that meant
woodchucks out foraging. At length they found one, with a large and two
small moving brown things among the clover. The large one stood up on
its 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 help
him to approach.

Rolf was instructed to stay in hiding and make some Indian signs that
the 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 moved
forward, level, then curved straight down, meant "gone in hole." But
Rolf was not to sign anything or move, unless Quonab asked him by making
the question sign (that is waving his hand with palm forward and spread
fingers).

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

In this way he came to the little ridge back of the woodchuck den, quite
unknown to its occupants. But now he was in a difficulty. He could not
see any of them.

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

He knew that the movement of the distant man would catch the eye of the
old woodchuck; she would sit up high to see what it was, and when it
came a second time she would, without being exactly alarmed, move toward
the 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 occasionally
to nibble or look around. Close behind her were the two fat cubs.
Arrived near the den their confidence was restored, and again they began
to feed, the young ones close to the den. Then Quonab put a blunt bird
dart 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 nose
and turned him over. The other jumped in surprise and stood up. So did
the mother. 'Tsip! another bolt and the second chuck was kicking. But
the 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 forth
very soon. He waited for some time; then the gray-brown muzzle of the
fat old clover-stealer came partly to view; but it was not enough for
a shot, and she seemed to have no idea of coming farther. The Indian
waited what seemed like a long time, then played an ancient trick. He
began to whistle a soft, low air. Whether the chuck thinks it is another
woodchuck calling, or merely a pleasant sound, is not known, but she
soon did as her kind always does, came out of the hole slowly and ever
higher, till she was half out and sitting up, peering about.

This was Quonab's chance. He now drew a barbed hunting arrow to the head
and aimed it behind her shoulders. 'Tsip! and the chuck was transfixed
by a shaft that ended her life a minute later, and immediately prevented
that instinctive scramble into the hole, by which so many chucks elude
the 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 finest
fresh meat for a week; and those who have not tried it have no idea
what a delicacy is a young, fat, clover-fed woodchuck, pan-roasted, with
potatoes, 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, Quonab
pointed to the near water. There was something afloat like a small,
round leaf, with two beads well apart, on it. Then Rolf noticed, two
feet away, a larger floating leaf, and now he knew that the first was
the head and eyes, the last the back, of a huge snapping turtle. A
moment more and it quickly sank from view. Turtles of three different
kinds were common, and snappers were well known to Rolf; but never
before 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. "There
has long been war between us; some day we will settle it. I saw him
here 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 the
last of it. Then a summer duck came with young ones. One by one he took
them, and at last got her. He drives all ducks away, so I set many night
lines 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 the
hooks, but each time when I pulled him up to the canoe, he broke my
biggest line and went down. He was as broad as the canoe; his claws
broke through the canoe skin; he made it bulge and tremble. He looked
like the devil of the lake. I was afraid!

"But my father taught me there is only one thing that can shame a
man--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 me
afraid once; I will make him much afraid. For three years we have been
watching 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 I
see him--mostly like today.

"Before Skookum I had a little dog, Nindai. He was a good little dog. He
could tree a coon, catch a rabbit, or bring out a duck, although he was
very small. We were very good friends. One time I shot a duck; it fell
into the lake; I called Nindai. He jumped into the water and swam to
the duck. Then that duck that I thought dead got up and flew away, so I
called Nindai. He came across the water to me. By and by, over that deep
place, he howled and splashed. Then he yelled, like he wanted me. I ran
for 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 a
pole, but found nothing; only five days later one of Nindai's paws
floated 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 the
water. He looked at me before he dived, and as we looked in each other's
eyes I knew he was a Manito; but he is evil, and my father said, 'When
an 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 I
reached shallow water and escaped him; and once I drove my fish-spear
in his back, but it was not strong enough to hold him. Once he caught
Skookum's tail, but the hair came out; the dog has not since swum across
the pond.

"Twice I have seen him like today and might have killed him with the
gun, but I want to meet him fighting. Many a time I have sat on the bank
and sung to him the 'Coward's Song,' and dared him to come and fight in
the 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 with
his 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 him
in the water."

Not many days were to pass before the meeting. Rolf had gone for water
at 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 peering
about, before he left cover. On a mud bank in a shallow bay, some fifty
yards off, he described a peculiar gray and greenish form that he slowly
made out to be a huge turtle, sunning itself. The more he looked and
gauged it with things about, the bigger it seemed. So he slunk back
quickly and silently to Quonab. "He is out sunning himself--Bosikado--on
the bank!"

The Indian rose quickly, took his tomahawk and a strong line. Rolf
reached for the gun, but Quonab shook his head. They went to the lake.
Yes! There was the great, goggle-eyed monster, like a mud-coloured
log. The bank behind him was without cover. It would be impossible to
approach the watchful creature within striking distance before he could
dive. Quonab would not use the gun; in this case he felt he must atone
by making an equal fight. He quickly formed a plan; he fastened the
tomahawk and the coiled rope to his belt, then boldly and silently
slipped into the lake, to approach the snapper from the water
side--quite the easiest in this case, not only because the snapper would
naturally watch on the land side, but because there was a thick clump of
rushes behind which the swimmer could approach.

Then, as instructed, Rolf went back into the woods, and came silently
to a place whence he could watch the snapper from a distance of twenty
yards.

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

Sunk down nearly out of sight, the Indian slowly reached the reeds. Here
he found bottom, and pausing, he took the rope in one hand, the tomahawk
in the other, and dived, and when he reappeared he was within ten yards
of 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 as
it passed, and seized the monster's rugged tail. Then it showed its
strength. In a twinkling that mighty tail was swung sidewise, crushing
the hand with terrible force against the sharp-edged points of the back
armour. It took all the Indian's grit to hold on to that knife-edged war
club. He dropped his tomahawk, then with his other hand swung the rope
to catch the turtle's head, but it lurched so quickly that the rope
missed again, slipped over the shell, and, as they struggled, encircled
one 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 all
muddied. He could not see, but plunged to grope for the tomahawk. The
snapper gave a great lurch to escape, releasing the injured hand, but
jerking the man off his legs. Then, finding itself held by a forepaw, it
turned with gaping, hissing jaws, and sprang on the foe that struggled
in bottom of the water.

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

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

The creature's jaws were locked on his arm, but its front claws, tearing
downward 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 another
wrench to the tomahawk--it moved, loosed; another, and it was free.
Then "chop, chop, chop," and that long, serpentine neck was severed; the
body, waving its great scaly legs and lashing its alligator tail, went
swimming downward, but the huge head, blinking its bleary, red eyes and
streaming with blood, was clinched on his arm. The Indian made for the
bank hauling the rope that held the living body, and fastened it to a
tree, then drew his knife to cut the jaw muscles of the head that ground
its beak into his flesh. But the muscles were protected by armour
plates and bone; he could not deal a stab to end their power. In vain he
fumbled and slashed, until in a spasmodic quiver the jaws gaped wide and
the bloody head fell to the ground. Again it snapped, but a tree branch
bore the brunt; on this the strong jaws clinched, and so remained.

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

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



Chapter 14. Selectman Horton Appears at the Rock

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

Rolf had grown wonderfully well into his wigwam life. He knew now
exactly how to set the flap so as to draw out all the smoke, no matter
which way the wind blew; he had learned the sunset signs, which tell
what change of wind the night might bring. He knew without going to the
shore whether the tide was a little ebb, with poor chances, or a mighty
outflow that would expose the fattest oyster beds. His practiced fingers
told 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 and
garbage that attracted hordes of flies. He had fitted into the camp
partly by changing it to fit himself, and he no longer felt that his
stay there was a temporary shift. When it was to end, he neither knew
nor cared. He realized only that he was enjoying life as he never had
done before. His canoe had passed a lot of rapids and was now in a
steady, 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 onset
preparing; and, of course, it came in the way least looked for.

Selectman Horton stood well with the community; he was a man of good
judgment, good position, and kind heart. He was owner of all the
woods along the Asamuk, and thus the Indian's landlord on the Indian's
ancestral land. Both Rolf and Quonab had worked for Horton, and so they
knew 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 for
allowing a white lad, the child of Christian parents, the grandson of a
clergyman, 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 those
that out of hand would condemn as godless a good fellow like Quonab,
who, in my certain knowledge and according to his poor light, doth
indeed maintain in some kind a daily worship of a sort. Nevertheless,
the selectmen, the magistrates, the clergy, the people generally, and
above all the Missionary Society, are deeply moved in the matter. It
hath even been made a personal charge against myself, and with much
bitterness I am held up as unzealous for allowing such a nefarious
stronghold of Satan to continue on mine own demesne, and harbour one,
escaped, as it were, from grace. Acting, therefore, not according to my
heart, but as spokesman of the Town Council, the Synod of Elders, and
the Society for the Promulgation of Godliness among the Heathen, I am
to 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 arranged
that you become a member of the household of the most worthy Elder
Ezekiel Peck, a household filled with the spirit of estimable piety and
true doctrine; a man, indeed, who, notwithstanding his exterior coldness
and severity, is very sound in all matters regarding the Communion of
Saints, and, I may even say in a measure a man of fame for some most
excellent remarks he hath passed on the shorter catechism, beside which
he hath gained much approval for having pointed out two hidden meanings
in the 27th verse of the 12th chapter of Hebrews; one whose very
presence, therefore, is a guarantee against levity, laxity, and false
preachment.

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

"Like a colt feeling the whip," indeed! Rolf reeled like a stricken
deer. 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, was
devastating; but to exchange it all for bondage in the pious household
of Old Peck, whose cold cruelty had driven off all his own children, was
an accumulation of disasters that aroused him.

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

"Come now, Rolf, such language is unbecoming. Let not a hasty tongue
betray you into sin. This is what your mother would have wished. Be
sensible; you will soon find it was all for the best. I have ever liked
you, 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 give
answer now, but think it over. Nevertheless, remember that on or before
Monday morning next, you will be expected to appear at Elder Peck's, and
I fear that, in case you fail, the messenger next arriving will be
one much less friendly than myself. Come now, Rolf, be a good lad, and
remember that in your new home you will at least be living for the glory
of God."

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

Rolf slowly, limply, sank down on a rock and stared at the fire. After
awhile Quonab got up and began to prepare the mid-day meal. Usually Rolf
helped 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 the
woods by himself. Quonab saw him lying on a flat rock, looking at the
pond, and throwing pebbles into it. Later Quonab went to Myanos. On his
return he found that Rolf had cut up a great pile of wood, but not a
word passed between them. The look of sullen anger and rebellion on
Rolf's face was changing to one of stony despair. What was passing in
each 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 their
heads, causing the dog to jump up and bark at the sound that ordinarily
he would have heeded not at all. Then silence was restored, and the red
man'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 much
this valley meant to Quonab, who worshipped the memory of his people.

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

For reply their eyes met, and from the Indian's deep chest came the
single word, "Ugh." One syllable, deep and descending, but what a tale
it told of the slowly engendered and strong-grown partiality, of a
struggle that had continued since the morning when the selectman came
with 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 the
answer, "To-morrow night."



Chapter 15. Bound for the North Woods

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

With a soft rag the colour was laid on. Face, head, neck, and hands were
all 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 it
a rich copper colour, and he was changed into an Indian lad that none
would 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 were
made of the bedding. The tomahawk, bows, arrows, and gun, with the few
precious food pounds in the copper pot, were divided between them and
arranged into packs with shoulder straps; then all was ready. But there
was one thing more for Quonab; he went up alone to the rock. Rolf knew
what 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. Presently
the 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 the
north.

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

The high road would have been the easier travelling, but it was very
necessary 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 runs
westerly. Again they were tempted by the easy path, but again Quonab
decided on keeping to the woods. Half an hour later they were halted by
Skookum treeing a coon. After they had secured the dog, they tramped on
through the woods for two hours more, and then, some eight miles from
the Pipestave, they halted, Rolf, at least, tired out. It was now
midnight. They made a hasty double bed of the canvas cover over a pole
above them, and slept till morning, cheered, as they closed their drowsy
eyes, by the "Hoo, Hoo, Hoo, Hoo, yah, hoo," of their friend, the barred
owl, still to the northward.

The sun was high, and Quonab had breakfast ready before Rolf awoke. He
was so stiff with the tramp and the heavy pack that it was with secret
joy 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 knew
or were likely to stop them. They were now in York State, but that did
not by any means imply that they were beyond pursuit.

As the sun rose high, Rolf went forth with his bow and blunt arrows, and
then, thanks largely to Skookum, he succeeded in knocking over a couple
of squirrels, which, skinned and roasted, made their dinner that day.
At night they set out as before, making about ten miles. The third night
they did better, and the next day being Sunday, they kept out of sight.
But Monday morning, bright and clear, although it was the first morning
when they were sure of being missed, they started to tramp openly along
the highway, with a sense of elation that they had not hitherto known
on the joumey. Two things impressed Rolf by their novelty: the curious
stare of the country folk whose houses and teams they passed, and the
violent antagonism of the dogs. Usually the latter could be quelled by
shaking a stick at them, or by pretending to pick up a stone, but one
huge and savage brindled mastiff kept following and barking just out of
stick range, and managed to give Skookum a mauling, until Quonab drew
his bow and let fly a blunt arrow that took the brute on the end of
the nose, and sent him howling homeward, while Skookum got a few highly
satisfactory nips at the enemy's rear. Twenty miles they made that day
and twenty-five the next, for now they were on good roads, and their
packs were lighter. More than once they found kind farmer folk who gave
them a meal. But many times Skookum made trouble for them. The farmers
did not like the way he behaved among their hens. Skookum never could be
made to grasp the fine zoological distinction between partridges which
are large birds and fair game, and hens which are large birds, but not
fair game. Such hair splitting was obviously unworthy of study, much
less 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 another
of his ancient homes, he always asked if they would let him work for a
meal, and soon remarked that his success was better when he sought first
the 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 coming
from 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 the
Indian had not missed any of the points, and so he was named.

Twenty or thirty miles a day they went now, avoiding the settlements
along the river. Thus they saw nothing of Albany, but on the tenth
day they reached Fort Edward, and for the first time viewed the great
Hudson. Here they stayed as short a time as might be, pushed on by
Glen's Falls, and on the eleventh night of the journey they passed the
old, abandoned fort, and sighted the long stretch of Lake George, with
its wooded shore, and glimpses of the mountains farther north.

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

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

Quonab, remembering the ancient law of the woods, that parcels off the
valleys, each to the hunter first arriving, or succeeding the one who
had, was following his own line of thought. Rolf was puzzling over means
to get an outfit, canoe, traps, axes, and provisions. The boy broke
silence.

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

The reply was simple, "You are Nibowaka."

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

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

"Cahn yo work putty goood?

"Yes, I have always lived on a farm," and Rolf showed his hands, broad
and 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 the
potatoes 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 he
was ignominiously chained to a penitential post, nor left it during the
travellers' sojourn.

In the afternoon Quonab returned with the cattle, and as he told Rolf he
saw 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 a
serious matter, needing immediate attention. Rolf had milked five cows
twice a day for five years, and a glance showed old Van Trumper that the
boy was an expert.

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

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

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

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

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



Chapter 16. Life with the Dutch Settler

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

One end of the barn was portioned off for poultry. In this the working
staff of a dozen hens were doing their duty, which, on that first night
of the "brown angels' visit," consisted of silent slumber, when all at
once 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 body
of one of these highly esteemed branches of the egg-plant was found in
the corner, partly devoured. Quonab examined the headless hen, the dust
around, 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 would
not come into the building by night."

There was no question, first, that it was a mink, and, second, that he
was hiding about the barn until the hunger pang should send him again
to the hen house. Quonab covered the hen's body with two or three large
stones so that there was only one approach. In the way of this approach
he 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 that
gave him a prickling in his hair. The mink, a large male, was caught by
one front paw. He was writhing and foaming, tearing, sometimes at the
trap, sometimes at the dead hen, and sometimes at his own imprisoned
foot, pausing now and then to utter the most ear-piercing shrieks, then
falling again in crazy animal fury on the trap, splintering his sharp
white teeth, grinding the cruel metal with bruised and bloody jaws,
frothing, snarling, raving mad. As his foemen entered he turned on them
a hideous visage of inexpressible fear and hate, rage and horror.
His eyes glanced back green fire in the lantern light; he strained in
renewed efforts to escape; the air was rank with his musky smell. The
impotent fury of his struggle made a picture that continued in Rolf's
mind. Quonab took a stick and with a single blow put an end to the
scene, but never did Rolf forget it, and never afterward was he a
willing partner when the trapping was done with those relentless jaws of
steel.

A week later another hen was missing, and the door of the hen house left
open. After a careful examination of the dust, inside and out of the
building, Quonab said, "Coon." It is very unusual for coons to raid a
hen house. Usually it is some individual with abnormal tastes, and once
he begins, he is sure to come back. The Indian judged that he might be
back the next night, so prepared a trap. A rope was passed from the door
latch to a tree; on this rope a weight was hung, so that the door was
selfshutting, and to make it self-locking he leaned a long pole against
it inside. Now he propped it open with a single platform, so set that
the 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 they
found that the self-shutter had shut, and inside, crouched in one of the
nesting boxes, was a tough, old fighting coon. Strange to tell, he had
not touched a second hen. As soon as he found himself a prisoner he had
experienced a change of heart, and presently his skin was nailed on the
end 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, the
storekeeper, 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 about
again in a week. Annette took charge of the baby, as well as of
the previous arrivals. Hendrik senior was gradually overcoming his
difficulties, thanks to the unexpected help, and a kindly spirit made
the hard work not so very hard. The shyness that was at first felt
toward the Indians wore off, especially in the case of Rolf, he was
found so companionable; and the Dutchman, after puzzling over the
combination of brown skin and blue eyes, decided that Rolf was a
half-breed.

August wore on not unpleasantly for the boy, but Quonab was getting
decidedly 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-August
indications 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 need
two months' open water to find a good country and build a shanty." Then
did Rolf do the wise thing; he went to fat Hendrik and told him all
about it. They wanted to get a canoe and an outfit, and seek for a
trapping or hunting ground that would not encroach on those already
possessed, for the trapping law is rigid; even the death penalty is not
considered too high in certain cases of trespass, provided the injured
party is ready to be judge, jury, and executioner. Van Trumper was able
to help them not a little in the matter of location--there was no use
trying on the Vermont side, nor anywhere near Lake Champlain, nor near
Lake George; neither was it worth while going to the far North, 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.