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.