Rolf learned, not easily or at single talk:
"Yesterday the chipmunks worked hard; to-day there are none to be seen.
"Yesterday the loons were wailing; now they are still, and no small birds are about.
"Yesterday it was a yellow sunrise; to-day a rosy dawn.
"Last night the moon changed and had a thick little ring.
"It has not rained for ten days, and this is the third day of easterly winds.
"There was no dew last night. I saw Tongue Mountain at daybreak; my tom-tom will not sing.
"The smoke went three ways at dawn, and Skookum's nose was hot."
So they rested, not knowing, but forced to believe, and it was not till the third day that the sky broke; the west wind began to pay back its borrowings from the east, and the saying was proved that "three days' rain will empty any sky."
That evening, after their meal, Rolf and Van launched the canoe and paddled down the lake. A mile from camp they landed, for this was a favourite deer run. Very soon Rolf pointed to the ground. He had found a perfectly fresh track, but Van seemed not to comprehend. They went along it, Rolf softly and silently, Van with his long feet and legs making a dangerous amount of clatter. Rolf turned and whispered, "That won't do. You must not stand on dry sticks." Van endeavoured to move more cautiously and thought he was doing well, but Rolf found it very trying to his patience and began to understand how Quonab had felt about himself a year ago. "See," said Rolf, "lift your legs so; don't turn your feet out that way. Look at the place before you put it down again; feel with your toe to make sure there is no dead stick, then wriggle it down to the solid ground. Of course, you'd do better in moccasins. Never brush past any branches; lift them aside and don't let them scratch; ease them back to the place; never try to bend a dry branch; go around it," etc. Van had not thought of these things, but now he grasped them quickly, and they made a wonderful improvement in his way of going.
They came again to the water's edge; across a little bay Rolf sighted at once the form of a buck, perfectly still, gazing their way, wondering, no doubt, what made those noises.
"Here's your chance," he whispered.
"Where?" was the eager query.
"There; see that gray and white thing?"
"I can't see him."
For five minutes Rolf tried in vain to make his friend see that statuesque form; for five minutes it never moved. Then, sensing danger, the buck gave a bound and was lost to view.
It was disheartening. Rolf sat down, nearly disgusted; then one of Sylvanne's remarks came to him: "It don't prove any one a fool, coz he can't play your game."
Presently Rolf said, "Van, hev ye a book with ye?"
"Yes, I have my Virgil."
"Read me the first page."
Van read it, holding the book six inches from his nose.
"Let's see ye read this page there," and Rolf held it up four feet away.
"I can't; it's nothing but a dim white spot."
"Well, can ye see that loon out there?"
"You mean that long, dark thing in the bay?"
"No, that's a pine log close to," said Rolf, with a laugh, "away out half a mile."
"No, I can't see anything but shimmers."
"I thought so. It's no use your trying to shoot deer till ye get a pair of specs to fit yer eyes. You have brains enough, but you haven't got the eyesight of a hunter. You stay here till I go see if I have any luck."
Rolf melted into the woods. In twenty minutes Van heard a shot and very soon Rolf reappeared, carrying a two-year-old buck, and they returned to their camp by nightfall. Quonab glanced at their faces as they passed carrying the little buck. They tried to look inscrutable. But the Indian was not deceived. He gave out nothing but a sizzling "Humph!"
Chapter 63.
The Redemption of Van
"WHEN things is looking black as black can be, it's a sure sign of luck coming your way." so said Si Sylvanne, and so it proved to Van Cortlandt The Moon of the Falling Leaves was waning, October was nearly over, the day of his return to Albany was near, as he was to go out in time for the hunters to return in open water. He was wonderfully improved in strength and looks. His face was brown and ruddy. He had abandoned all drugs, and had gained fully twenty pounds in weight. He had learned to make a fire, paddle a canoe, and go through the woods in semi-silence. His scholarly talk had given him large place in Rolf's esteem, and his sweet singing had furnished a tiny little shelf for a modicum of Quonab's respect. But his attempts to get a deer were failures. "You come back next year with proper, farsight glasses and you'll all right," said Rolf; and that seemed the one ray of hope.
The three days' storm had thrown so many trees that the hunters decided it would be worth while making a fast trip down to Eagle's Nest, to cut such timber as might have fallen across the stream, and so make an easy way for when they should have less time.
The surmise was quite right. Much new-fallen timber was now across the channel. They chopped over twenty-five trunks before they reached Eagle's Nest at noon, and, leaving the river in better shape than ever it was, they turned, for the swift, straight, silent run of ten miles home.
As they rounded the last point, a huge black form in the water loomed to view. Skookum's bristles rose. Quonab whispered, "Moose! Shoot quick!" Van was the only one with a gun. The great black beast stood for a moment, gazing at them with wide-open eyes, ears, and nostrils, then shook his broad horns, wheeled, and dashed for the shore. Van fired and the bull went down with a mighty splash among the lilies. Rolf and Skookum let off a succession of most unhunterlike yells of triumph. But the giant sprang up again and reached the shore, only to fall to Van Cortlandt's second barrel. Yet the stop was momentary; he rose and dashed into the cover. Quonab turned the canoe at once and made for the land.
A great sob came from the bushes, then others at intervals. Quonab showed his teeth and pointed. Rolf seized his rifle, Skookum sprang from the boat, and a little later was heard letting off his war-cry in the bushes not far away.
The men rushed forward, guns in hand, but Quonab called, "Look out! Maybe he waiting."
"If he is, he'll likely get one of us." said Rolf, with a light laugh, for he had some hearsay knowledge of moose.
Covered each by a tree, they waited till Van had reloaded his double-barrelled, then cautiously approached. The great frothing sobs had resounded from time to time.
Skookum's voice also was heard in the thicket, and when they neared and glimpsed the place, it was to see the monster on the ground, lying at full length, dinging up his head at times when he uttered that horrid sound of pain.
The Indian sent a bullet through the moose's brain; then all was still, the tragedy was over.
But now their attention was turned to Van Cortlandt. He reeled, staggered, his knees trembled, his face turned white, and, to save himself from falling, he sank onto a log. Here he covered his face with his hands, his feet beat the ground, and his shoulders heaved up and down.
The others said nothing. They knew by the signs and the sounds that it was only through a mighty effort that young Van Cortlandt, grown man as he was, could keep himself from hysterical sobs and tears.
Not then, but the next day it was that Quonab said: "It comes to some after they kill, to some before, as it came to you, Rolf; to me it came the day I killed my first chipmunk, that time when I stole my father's medicine."
They had ample work for several hours now, to skin the game and save the meat. It was fortunate they were so near home. A marvellous change there was in the atmosphere of the camp. Twice Quonab spoke to Van Cortlandt, as the latter laboured with them to save and store the meat of his moose. He was rubbed, doped, soiled, and anointed with its flesh, hair, and blood, and that night, as they sat by their camp fire, Skookum arose, stretched, yawned, walked around deliberately, put his nose in the lawyer's hand, gave it a lick, then lay down by his feet. Van Cortlandt glanced at Rolf, a merry twinkle was in the eyes of both. "It's all right. You can pat Skookum now, w
ithout risk of being crippled. He's sized you up. You are one of us at last;" and Quonab looked on with two long ivory rows a-gleaming in his smile.
Chapter 64.
Dinner at the Governor's
Was ever there a brighter blazing sunrise after such a night of gloom? Not only a deer, but the biggest of all deer, and Van himself the only one of the party that had ever killed a moose. The skin was removed and afterward made into a hunting coat for the victor. The head and horns were carefully preserved to be carried back to Albany, where they were mounted and still hang in the hall of a later generation of the name. The final days at the camp were days of happy feeling; they passed too soon, and the long-legged lawyer, bronzed and healthy looking, took his place in their canoe for the flying trip to Albany. With an empty canoe and three paddles (two and one half, Van said), they flew down the open stretch of Jesup's River in something over two hours and camped that night fully thirty-five miles from their cabin. The next day they nearly reached the Schroon and in a week they rounded the great bend, and Albany hove in view.
How Van's heart did beat! How he did exult to come in triumph home, reestablished in health and strengthened in every way. They were sighted and recognized. Messengers were seen running; a heavy gun was fired, the flag run up on the Capitol, bells set a-ringing, many people came running, and more flags ran up on vessels.
A great crowd gathered by the dock.
"There's father, and mother too!" shouted Van, waving his hat.
"Hurrah," and the crowd took it up, while the bells went jingle, jangle, and Skookum in the bow sent back his best in answer.
The canoe was dragged ashore. Van seized his mother in his arms, as she cried: "My boy, my boy, my darling boy! how well you look. Oh, why didn't you write? But, thank God, you are back again, and looking so healthy and strong. I know you took your squills and opodeldoc. Thank God for that! Oh, I'm so happy! my boy, my boy! There's nothing like squills and God's blessing."
Rolf and Quonab were made to feel that they had a part in it all. The governor shook them warmly by the hand, and then a friendly voice was heard: "Wall, boy, here ye air agin; growed a little, settin' up and sassin' back, same as ever." Rolf turned to see the gigantic, angular form and kindly face of grizzly old Si Sylvanne and was still more surprised to hear him addressed "senator."
"Yes," said the senator, "one o' them freak elections that sometimes hits right; great luck for Albany, wa'nt it?"
"Ho," said Quonab, shaking the senator's hand, while Skookum looked puzzled and depressed.
"Now, remember," said the governor, addressing the Indian, the lad, and the senator, "we expect you to dine tonight at the mansion; seven o'clock."
Then the terror of the dragon conventionality, that guards the gate and hovers over the feast, loomed up in Rolf's imagination. He sought a private word with Van. "I'm afraid I have no fit clothes; I shan't know how to behave," he said.
"Then I'll show you. The first thing is to be perfectly clean and get a shave; put on the best clothes you have, and be sure they're clean; then you come at exactly seven o'clock, knowing that every one is going to be kind to you and you're bound to have a good time. As to any other 'funny-do' you watch me, and you'll have no trouble."
So when the seven o'clock assemblage came, and guests were ascending the steps of the governor's mansion, there also mounted a tall, slim youth, an easy-pacing Indian, and a prick-eared, yellow dog. Young Van Cortlandt was near the door, on watch to save them any embarrassment. But what a swell he looked, cleanshaven, ruddy, tall, and handsome in the uniform of an American captain, surrounded by friends and immensely popular. How different it all was from that lonely cabin by the lake.
A butler who tried to remove Skookum was saved from mutilation by the intervention first of Quonab and next of Van; and when they sat down, this uncompromising four-legged child of the forest ensconced himself under Quonab's chair and growled whenever the silk stockings of the footman seemed to approach beyond the line of true respect.
Young Van Cortlandt was chief talker at the dinner, but a pompous military man was prominent in the company. Once or twice Rolf was addressed by the governor or Lady Van Cortlandt, and had to speak to the whole table; his cheeks were crimson, but he knew what he wanted to say and stopped when it was said, so suffered no real embarrassment.
After what seemed an interminable feast of countless dishes and hours' duration, an extraordinary change set in. Led by the hostess, all stood up, the chairs were lifted out of their way, and the ladies trooped into another room; the doors were closed, and the men sat down again at the end next the governor.
Van stayed by Rolf and explained: "This is another social custom that began with a different meaning. One hundred years ago, every man got drunk at every formal dinner, and carried on in a way that the ladies did not care to see, so to save their own feelings and give the men a free rein, the ladies withdrew. Nowadays, men are not supposed to indulge in any such orgy, but the custom continues, because it gives the men a chance to smoke, and the ladies a chance to discuss matters that do not interest the men. So again you see it is backed by common sense."
This proved the best part of the dinner to Rolf. There was a peculiar sense of over-politeness, of insincerity, almost, while the ladies were present; the most of the talking had been done by young Van Cortlandt and certain young ladies, assisted by some very gay young men and the general. Their chatter was funny, but nothing more. Now a different air was on the group; different subjects were discussed, and by different men, in a totally different manner.
"We've stood just about all we can stand," said the governor, alluding to an incident newly told, of a British frigate boarding an American merchant vessel by force and carrying off half her crew, under presence that they were British seamen in disguise. "That's been going on for three years now. It's either piracy or war, and, in either case, it's our duty to fight."
"Jersey's dead against war," said a legislator from down the river.
"Jersey always was dead against everything that was for the national good, sir," said a red-faced, puffy, military man, with a husky voice, a rolling eye, and a way of ending every sentence in "sir."
"So is Connecticut," said another; "they say, 'Look at all our defenceless coasts and harbour towns.'"
"They're not risking as much as New York," answered the governor, "with her harbours all the way up the Hudson and her back door open to invasion from Canada."
"Fortunately, sir, Pennyslvania, Maryland, and the West have not forgotten the glories of the past. All I ask—is a chance to show what we can do, sir. I long for the smell of powder once more, sir."
"I understand that President Madison has sent several protests, and, in spite of Connecticut and New Jersey, will send an ultimatum within three months. He believes that Britain has all she can manage, with Napoleon and his allies battering at her doors, and will not risk a war.
"It's my opinion," said Sylvanne; "that these English men is too pig-headed an' ornery to care a whoop in hell whether we get mad or not. They've a notion Paul Jones is dead, but I reckon we've got plenty of the breed only waitin' a chance. Mor'n twenty-five of our merchantmen wrecked each year through being stripped of their crews by a 'friendly power.' 'Pears to me we couldn't be worse off going to war, an' might be a dum sight better."
"Your home an' holdings are three hundred safe miles from the seacoast," objected the man from Manhattan.
"Yes, and right next Canada," was the reply.
"The continued insults to our flag, sir, and the personal indignities offered to our people are even worse than the actual loss in ships and goods. It makes my blood fairly boil," and the worthy general looked the part as his purple jowl quivered over his white cravat.
"Gosh all hemlock! the one pricks, but t'other festers, it's tarnal sure you steal a man's dinner and tell him he's one o' nature's noblemen, he's more apt to love you than if you give him five dollars to keep out o' your sight," said Sylvanne, with slow emphasis.
"A man ken make one awful big mistake an' still be all right, but he can't go on making a little mistake every day right along an' be fit company for a clean crowd," retorted the new senator.
At length the governor rose and led the way to the drawing-room, where they rejoined the ladies and the conversation took on a different colour and weight, by which it lost all value for those who knew not the art of twittering persiflage and found less joy in a handkerchief flirtation than in the nation's onward march. Rolf and Quonab enjoyed it now about as much as Skookum had done all the time.
Chapter 65.
The Grebes and the Singing Mouse
Quonab puzzled long over the amazing fact that young Van Cortlandt had evident high standing "in his own tribe." "He must be a wise counsellor, for I know he cannot fight and is a fool at hunting," was the ultimate decision.
They had a final interview with the governor and his son before they left. Rolf received for himself and his partner the promised one hundred and fifty dollars, and the hearty thanks of all in the governor's home. Next, each was presented with a handsome hunting knife, not unlike the one young Van had carried, but smaller. Quonab received his with "Ho—" then, after a pause, "He pull out, maybe, when I need him."—"Ho! good!" he exclaimed, as the keen blade appeared.
"Now, Rolf," said the lawyer, "I want to come back next year and bring three companions, and we will pay you at the same rate per month for each. What do you say?"
"Glad to have you again," said Rolf: "we'll come for you on August fifteenth; but remember you should bring your guitar and your spectacles."
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