United States or Albania ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
I followed slowly, letting him get some distance ahead, and just as his feet struck bottom whispered to Simmo for his softest call. At the sound the bull whirled and plunged after us again recklessly, and I led him across to where the younger bull was still ranging up and down the shore, calling imploringly to his phantom mate.
Then another scoop of water, and another vigorous rub, ending behind his ears as before. Simmo was full of wonder, for an Indian notices few things in the woods beside those that pertain to his trapping and hunting; and to see a mouse wash his face was as incomprehensible to him as to see me read a book. But all wood mice are very cleanly; they have none of the strong odors of our house mice.
That night Simmo, to avenge his overalls, set a deadfall supported by a piece of cord, which he had soaked in molasses and salt. Which meant that Bunny would nibble the cord for the salt that was in it, and bring the log down hard on his own back. So I had to spring it, while Simmo slept, to save the little fellow's life and learn more about him.
Portash go 'cross; save time, jus' same Indian portash." That was the first of a dozen such paths that I have since found cutting across the bends of wilderness rivers, the wood folk's way of saving time on a journey. I left Simmo to go on down the river, while I followed the little byway curiously.
He had learned to recognize the sounds of my coming, the rub of a careless paddle, the ripple of water under the bow, or the grating of pebbles on the beach; and with Simmo asleep, and the fire low, it was good to be welcomed back by a cheery little voice in the darkness; for he always sang when he heard me. Sometimes I would try to surprise him; but his sleep was too light and his ears too keen.
But the big moose, instead of making off into the woods, as a well-behaved moose ought to do, splashed straight toward us. Simmo, in the bow, gave a sweeping flourish of his pole, and we all yelled in unison; but the moose came on steadily, quietly, bound to find out what the queer thing was that had just come up river and broken the solemn stillness.
Simmo grew uneasy and hurried away. He was like the wood folk. But I sat down on a great log that the spring floods had driven in through the alders to feel the meaning of the place, if possible, and to have the vast sweet solitude all to myself for a little while. A faint stir on my left, and another!
Even on the seacoast in winter, where he knows Clote Scarpe cannot be for Clote Scarpe hates the sea Hukweem forgets himself, and cries occasionally out of pure loneliness. When I asked what Hukweem says when he cries for all cries of the wilderness have their interpretation Simmo answered: "Wy, he say two ting. First he say, Where are you? O where are you?
Then Simmo, who could never surprise one of the great birds however silently he paddled, would mutter something which sounded like Quoskh K'sobeqh, Quoskh the Keen Eyed.
And a bit of tenderness, like that which lay so unconscious under my eyes, gets hold of a man, and spikes his guns better than moralizing. So the watcher stole away, making as little noise as he could, following his compass of twigs to where the canoes lay ready and Simmo was waiting. Sometime, I hope, Simmo and I will camp there again, in winter.
Word Of The Day