Rolf in the Woods

This had the desired effect of showing that there were other traders. At last the deal was closed. Besides the fox skin, they had three hundred dollars’ worth of fur. The exchange for the fox skin was enough to buy all the groceries and dry goods they needed. But Rolf had something else in mind.

He had picked out some packages of candies, some calico prints and certain bright ribbons, when the trader grasped the idea. “I see; yer goin’ visitin’. Who is it? Must be the Van Trumpers!”

Rolf nodded and now he got some very intelligent guidance. He did not buy Annette’s dress, because part of her joy was to be the expedition in person to pick it out; but he stocked up with some gorgeous pieces of jewellery that were ten cents each, and ribbons whose colours were as far beyond expression as were the joys they could create in the backwoods female heart.

Proudly clutching his new rlile, and carrying in his wallet a memorandum of three hundred dollars for their joint credit, Rolf felt himself a person of no little importance. As he was stepping out of the store, the trader said, “Ye didn’t run across Jack Hoag agin, did ye?”

“Did we? Hmph!” and Rolf told briefly of their experience with that creature.

“Just like him, just like him; served him right; he was a dirty cuss. But, say; don’t you be led into taking your fur out Lyons Falls way. They’re a mean lot in there, and it stands to reason I can give you better prices, being a hundred miles nearer New York.”

And that lesson was not forgotten. The nearer New York the better the price; seventy-five dollars at Lyons Falls; one hundred and twenty-five dollars at Warren’s; two hundred dollars at New York. Rolf pondered long and the idea was one which grew and bore fruit.

Chapter 51. Back at Van Trumper’s

“Nibowaka” — Quonab always said “Nibowaka” when he was impressed with Rolf’s astuteness — “What about the canoe and stuff?”

“I think we better leave all here. Callan will lend us a canoe.” So they shouldered the guns, Rolf clung to his, and tramped across the portage, reaching Callan’s in less than two hours.

“Why, certainly you can have the canoe, but come in and eat first,” was the kindly backwoods greeting. However, Rolf was keen to push on; they launched the canoe at once and speedily were flashing their paddles on the lake.

The place looked sweetly familiar as they drew near. The crops in the fields were fair; the crop of chickens at the barn was good; and the crop of children about the door was excellent.

“Mein Hemel! mein Hemel!” shouted fat old Hendrik, as they walked up to the stable door. In a minute he was wringing their hands and smiling into great red, white, and blue smiles. “Coom in, coom in, lad. Hi, Marta, here be Rolf and Quonab. Mein Hemel! mein Hemel! what am I now so happy.”

“Where’s Annette?” asked Rolf.

“Ach, poor Annette, she fever have a little; not mooch, some,” and he led over to a corner where on a low cot lay Annette, thin, pale, and listless.

She smiled faintly, in response, when Rolf stooped and kissed her.

“Why, Annette, I came back to see you. I want to take you over to Warren’s store, so you can pick out that dress. See, I brought you my first marten and I made this box for you; you must thank Skookum for the quills on it.”

“Poor chile; she bin sick all spring,” and Marta used a bunch of sedge to drive away the flies and mosquitoes that, bass and treble, hovered around the child.

“What ails her?” asked Rolf anxiously.

“Dot ve do not know,” was the reply.

“Maybe there’s some one here can tell,” and Roll glanced at the Indian.

“Ach, sure! Have I you that not always told all-vays — eet is so. All-vays, I want sumpin bad mooch. I prays de good Lord and all-vays, all-vays, two times now, He it send by next boat. Ach, how I am spoil,” and the good Dutchman’s eyes filled with tears of thankfulness.

Quonab knelt by the sufferer. He felt her hot, dry hand; he noticed her short, quick breathing, her bright eyes, and the untouched bowl of mush by her bed.

“Swamp fever,” he said. “I bring good medicine.” He passed quietly out into the woods. When he returned, he carried a bundle of snake-root which he made into tea.

Annette did not wish to touch it, but her mother persuaded her to take a few sips from a cup held by Rolf.

“Wah! this not good,” and Quonab glanced about the close, fly-infested room. “I must make lodge.” He turned up the cover of the bedding; three or four large, fiat brown things moved slowly out of the light. “Yes, I make lodge.”

It was night now, and all retired; the newcomers to the barn. They had scarcely entered, when a screaming of poultry gave a familiar turn to affairs. On running to the spot, it proved not a mink or coon, but Skookum, up to his old tricks. On the appearance of his masters, he fled with guilty haste, crouched beneath the post that he used to be, and soon again was, chained to.