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, and it never lost its potency. Smell never does. Oh, mighty
aura! that, in marching by the nostrils, can reach and move the soul;
how wise the church that makes this power its handmaid, and through its
incense 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 of
letting evil thought associated grow with some recurrent odour that
we love. Happy, indeed, are they that find some ten times pure and
consecrated fragrance, like the pine, which entering in is master
of their moods, and yet through linking thoughts has all its power,
uplifting, full of sweetness and blessed peace. So came to Rolf his
medicine 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 be
adjusted that first day. Packs divided in two, new combinations to trim
the 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 or
to packages that would float in case of an upset. The canoe itself had
to 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 on
the Pipestave Pond, but that was a mere ferry. This was real travel. He
marvelled at the sensitiveness of the frail craft; the delicacy of its
balance; its quick response to the paddle; the way it seemed to shrink
from the rocks; and the unpleasantly suggestive bend-up of the ribs
when the bottom grounded upon a log. It was a new world for him. Quonab
taught him never to enter the canoe except when she was afloat; never to
rise in her or move along without hold of the gunwale; never to make a
sudden move; and he also learned that it was easier to paddle when there
were six feet of water underneath than when only six inches.

In an hour they had covered the five miles that brought them to the
Hudson, and here the real labour began, paddling up stream. Before long
they came to a shallow stretch with barely enough water to float the
canoe. Here they jumped out and waded in the stream, occasionally
lifting a stone to one side, till they reached the upper stretch of deep
water and again went merrily paddling. Soon they came to an impassable
rapid, and Rolf had his first taste of a real carry or portage. Quonab's
eye was watching the bank as soon as the fierce waters appeared; for
the first question was, where shall we land? and the next, how far do we
carry? There are no rapids on important rivers in temperate America
that have not been portaged more or less for ages. No canoe man portages
without considering most carefully when, where, and how to land. His
selection of the place, then, is the result of careful study. He cannot
help leaving some mark at the place, slight though it be, and the next
man looks for that mark to save himself time and trouble.

"Ugh" was the only sound that Rolf heard from his companion, and
the canoe headed for a flat rock in the pool below the rapids. After
landing, 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 to
learn the trail. It was not well marked; had not been used for a year
or two, evidently, but there are certain rules that guide one. The trail
keeps near the water, unless there is some great natural barrier, and it
is 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 yards
he 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 was
carried over and moored to the bank.

The cargo replaced, they went on again, but in half an hour after
passing more shoal water, saw another rapid, not steep, but too shallow
to float the canoe, even with both men wading. Here Quonab made what
the 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 and
reloaded her above. Another strip of good going was succeeded by a long
stretch of very swift water that was two or three feet deep and between
shores that were densely grown with alders. The Indian landed, cut two
light, 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 on
the upper level.

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

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

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



Chapter 18. Animal Life Along the River

It must not be supposed that, because it has been duly mentioned, they
saw no wild life along the river. The silent canoe man has the best of
opportunities. 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 taps
on 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 still
he stood like a red statue, for he was yet in the red coat. With three
or 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 turned
and bounded away, the white flag the last thing to disappear. Rolf sat
spellbound. It was so sudden; so easy; it soon melted into the woods
again. He trembled after it was gone.

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

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

On the second day they saw three deer, and on the third morning Quonab
loaded his gun with buckshot, to be ready, then sallied forth at dawn.
Rolf was following, but the Indian shook his head, then said: "Don't
make fire for half an hour."

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

Another and more thrilling experience followed quickly. Rounding a bend
in the early dawn they sighted a black bear and two cubs rambling along
the gravelly bank and stopping now and then to eat something that turned
out to be crayfish.

Quonab had not seen a bear since childhood, when he and his father
hunted 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 drift
backward until out of sight; then made for the land. Quickly tying up
the canoe he took his gun and Rolf his hunting arrows, and, holding
Skookum in a leash, they dashed into the woods. Then, keeping out of
sight, they ran as fast and as silently as possible in the direction
of the bears. Of course, the wind was toward the hunters, or they never
could have got so near. Now they were opposite the family group and
needed only a chance for a fair shot. Sneaking forward with the utmost
caution, they were surely within twenty-five yards, but still the bushes
screened the crab-eaters. As the hunters sneaked, the old bear stopped
and sniffed suspiciously; the wind changed, she got an unmistakable
whiff; then gave a loud warning "Koff! Koff! Koff! Koff!" and ran as
fast as she could. The hunters knowing they were discovered rushed out,
yelling as loudly as possible, in hopes of making the bears tree. The
old bear ran like a horse with Skookum yapping bravely in her rear. The
young ones, left behind, lost sight of her, and, utterly bewildered by
the noise, made for a tree conveniently near and scrambled up into the
branches. "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 the
hunters, 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 it
with us; let's leave them," said Rolf, but added, "Will they find their
mother?"

"Yes, bime-by; they come down and squall all over woods. She will hang
round 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 more
full of interesting thrills than did any one of the many stirring bear
hunts that Rolf and Quonab shared together in the days that were to
come.



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 of
these had been cut years ago, showing that the old trapper had used this
route. Once they were unpleasantly surprised by seeing a fresh chopping
on the bank, but their mourning was changed into joy when they found it
was beaver-work.

Ten miles they made that day. In the evening they camped on the shore of
Jesup's Lake, proud and happy in the belief that they were the rightful
owners of it all. That night they heard again and again the howling of
wolves, but it seemed on the far side of the lake. In the morning they
went out on foot to explore, and at once had the joy of seeing five
deer, while tracks showed on every side. It was evidently a paradise for
deer, and there were in less degree the tracks of other animals--mink in
fair abundance, one or two otters, a mountain lion, and a cow moose with
her calf. It was thrilling to see such a feast of possibilities. The
hunters were led on and on, revelling in the prospect of many joys
before them, when all at once they came on something that turned their
joy 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 of
them with a prior claim to the valley; a claim that the unwritten law
would allow. They followed it a mile. It went striding along the shore
at 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 clam
shells, and again had hastened on. But there was no mark of gunstock
or other weapon where he sat; and why was he wearing boots? The hunters
rarely did.

For two miles the Indian followed with Rolf, and sometimes found
that the hated stranger had been running hard. Then they turned back,
terribly disappointed. At first it seemed a crushing blow. They had
three courses open to them--to seek a location farther north, to assume
that one side of the lake was theirs, or to find out exactly who and
what the stranger was. They decided on the last. The canoe was launched
and loaded, and they set out to look for what they hoped they would not
find, a trapper's shanty on the lake.

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

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

Which side of the outlet? Quonab settled that--the west. He wanted to
see the sun rise, and, not far back from the water, was a hill with a
jutting, 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 is
big enough to lie down in." And every trapper has realized before spring
that he made a sad mistake in not having it big enough to live in and
store goods in. Quonab and Rolf were new at the business, and made the
usual 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 rose
quickly. In one day the walls were up. An important thing was the roof.
What should it be? Overlapping basswood troughs, split shingles, also
called shakes, or clay? By far the easiest to make, the warmest
in winter and coolest in summer, is the clay roof. It has three
disadvantages: It leaks in long-continued wet weather; it drops down
dust and dirt in dry weather; and is so heavy that it usually ends by
crushing in the log rafters and beams, unless they are further supported
on posts, which are much in the way. But its advantages were so obvious
that the builders did not hesitate. A clay roof it was to be.

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

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

The plan of the fireplace was simple. Rolf had been present at the
building of several, and the main point was 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 fire 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 silently 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.

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."



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

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

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

After five hours' travel and work they came to another stream joining
on, and near the angle of the two little valleys they found a small tree
that was chewed and scratched in a remarkable manner for three to six
feet up. "Bear tree," said Quonab, and by degrees Rolf got the facts
about it.

The bears, and indeed most animals, have a way of marking the range that
they consider their own. Usually this is done by leaving their personal
odour at various points, covering the country claimed, but in some cases
visible marks are added. Thus the beaver leaves a little dab of mud, the
wolf scratches with his hind feet, and the bear tears the signal tree
with tooth and claw. Since this is done from time to time, when the bear
happens to be near the tree, it is kept fresh as long as the region
is claimed. But it is especially done in midsummer when the bears are
pairing, and helps them to find suitable companions, nor all are then
roaming the woods seeking mates; all call and leave their mark on the
sign post, so the next bear, thanks to his exquisite nose, can tell at
once the sex of the bear that called last and by its track tell which
way it travelled afterward.

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

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

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



Chapter 23. The Beaver Pond

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

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

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

Red-winged blackbirds were sailing in flocks about the pond; a number
of ducks were to be seen, and on a dead tree, killed by the backed up
water, a great blue heron stood. Many smaller creatures moved or flitted
in the lively scene, while far out near the middle rose a dome-like pile
of sticks, a beaver lodge, and farther three more were discovered. No
beaver were seen, but the fresh cut sticks, the floating branches peeled
of all the bark, and the long, strong dam in good repair were enough
to tell a practised eye that here was a large colony of beavers in
undisturbed possession.

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

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



Chapter 24. The Porcupine

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

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

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

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

Ammunition was too precious to waste, but Rolf was getting ready to climb
when Quonab said: "No, no; you must not. Once I saw white man climb
after the Kahk; it waited till he was near, then backed down, lashing
its tail. He put up his arm to save his face. It speared his arm in
fifty 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 and
dropped. 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 is
bad 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 only
his hate of the creature repeated the same sad mistake, and again had to
have the painful help, without which he must certainly have died. Before
night, however, he began to feel his real punishment and next morning
no one would have known the pudding-headed thing that sadly followed the
hunters, for the bright little dog that a day before had run so joyously
through the woods. It was many a long day before he fully recovered and
at one time his life was in the balance; and yet to the last of his
days he never fully realized the folly of his insensate attacks on the
creature that fights with its tail.

"It is ever so," said the Indian. "The lynx, the panther, the wolf, the
fox, the eagle, all that attack the Kahk must die. Once my father saw
a 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 sunk
deeper and his jaws swelled so he could not open or shut his mouth
to eat; then he starved. My people found him near a fish pond below a
rapid. There were many fish. The bear could kill them with his paw but
not eat, so with his mouth wide open and plenty about him he died of
starvation in that pool.

"There is but one creature that can kill the Kahk that is the Ojeeg the
big fisher weasel. He is a devil. He makes very strong medicine; the
Kahk cannot harm him. He turns it on its back and tears open its smooth
belly. It is ever so. We not know, but my father said, that it is
because when in the flood Nana Bojou was floating on the log with Kahk
and Ojeeg, Kahk was insolent and wanted the highest place, but Ojeeg was
respectful to Nana Bojou, he bit the Kahk to teach him a lesson and got
lashed with the tail of many stings. But the Manito drew out the quills
and said: 'It shall be ever thus; the Ojeeg shall conquer the Kahk and
the 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. Skookum
whined in his sleep so loudly as to waken them once or twice. Near dawn
they heard the howling of wolves and the curiously similar hooting of
a horned owl. There is, indeed, almost no difference between the short
opening 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, then
a familiar chuckle. He sat up and saw Skookum sadly lift his misshapen
head to gaze at a row of black-breasted grouse partridge on a branch
above, but the poor doggie was feeling too sick to take any active
interest. 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 nearest
willow and cut a long slender rod at least two feet long; on the top of
this he made a short noose of cord. Then he went cautiously under the
watching grouse, the spruce partridges, and reaching up slipped the
noose over the neck of the first one; a sharp jerk then tightened noose,
and brought the grouse tumbling out of the tree while its companions
merely clucked their puzzlement, made no effort to escape.

A short, sharp blow put the captive out of pain. The rod was reached
again and a second, the lowest always, was jerked down, and the trick
repeated till three grouse were secured. Then only did it dawn on the
others that they were in a most perilous neighbourhood, so they took
flight.

Rolf sat up in amazement. Quonab dropped the three birds by the fire and
set 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. Poor
little dog! he was, indeed, a sorry sight. He looked sadly out of his
bulging eyes, feebly moved swollen jaws, but did not touch the food he
once would have pounced on. He did not eat because he could not open his
mouth.

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

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

The hunters' first thought was to tie up Skookum, but a glance showed
that this was unnecessary. They softly dropped the packs and the sick
dog lay meekly down beside them. Then they crept forward with hunter
caution, favoured by an easterly breeze. Their first thought was of
beaver, but they had seen no recent sign, nor was there anything that
looked like a beaver pond. The measured splash, splash, splash--was not
so far ahead. It might be a bear snatching fish, or--no, that was too
unpleasant--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 opposite
they saw a sight but rarely glimpsed by man. Here were six otters; two
evidently full-grown, and four seeming young of the pair, engaged in a
most hilarious and human game of tobogganing down a steep clay hill to
plump into a deep part at its foot.

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

Splash, plump, splash--splash, plump, splash, went the otter family
gleefully, running up the bank again, eager each to be first, it seemed,
and to do the chute the oftenest.