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Updated: May 19, 2025
As the sun rose high, the victim seemed to gain considerably in strength. There was no immediate danger of an end. Rolf said to Quonab: "Where shall we take him? Guess you better go home for the toboggan, and we'll fetch him to the shanty." But the invalid was able to take part in the conversation. "Say, don't take me there. Ah want to go home. 'Pears like I'd be better at home.
So I starts to cover it with ce-ce-dar; the ony thing I c'd get m-m-m-w -wuz leanin' over to fix tother side me foot slipped on the ice ev'rything was icy an' m-m-m-m I lost me balance me knee the pan O Lord how I suffer! m-m-m it grabbed me knee an' h-h-hand " His voice died to a whisper and ceased; he seemed sinking. Quonab got up to hold him.
"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.
Rolf glanced at Quonab, who, unseen by the trader shook his head, held his right hand out, open hollow up, then raised it with a jerk for two inches. Quickly Rolf caught the idea and said; "No, I don't reckon them pale. I call them prime dark, every one of them."
He would probably have killed all the deer that winter, though there were ten times as many as he needed for food; and getting rid of him was a piece of good luck for hunters and deer, while his superb hide made a noble trophy that in years to come had unexpected places of honour. Sunday in the Woods Rolf still kept to the tradition of Sunday, and Quonab had in a manner accepted it.
He wondered how he might give that touch as he wished it. Skookum still slept. Both men watched the mouse, as, with quick movements it crept about. Presently it approached a long birch stick that stood up against the wall. High hanging was the song-drum. Rolf wished Quonab would take it and let it open his heart, but he dared not offer it; that might have the exact wrong effect.
"Oh, God of my fathers," Quonab used to pray, "when I reach the Happy Hunting, let it be ever the Leaf-falling Moon, for that is the only perfect time." And in that unmarred month of sunny sky and woodlands purged of every plague, there is but one menace in the vales.
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.
It is the long struggle and the starvation chiefly that are cruel, and these every trapper should cut short by going often around his line. Now Quonab took part. "That is a good setting for some things. It would catch a coon, a mink, or a marten, or a dog but not a fox or a wolf. They are very clever. You shall see."
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.
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