Rolf In The Woods | Page 9

uncle cursing "that ungrateful young scut - not worth his salt." But
nothing further was said or done. His aunt did not strike at him once for
two days. The third night Micky disappeared. On the next he returned
with another man; they had a crate of fowls, and Rolf was told to keep
away from "that there little barn."

So he did all morning, but he peeped in from the hayloft when a chance
came, and saw a beautiful horse. Next day the "little barn" was open
and empty as before.
That night this worthy couple had a jollification with some callers, who
were strangers to Rolf. As he lay awake, listening to the carouse, he
overheard many disjointed allusions that he did not understand, and
some that he could guess at: "Night work pays better than day work any
time," etc. Then he heard his own name and a voice, "Let's go up and
settle it with him now." Whatever their plan, it was clear that the
drunken crowd, inspired by the old ruffian, were intent on doing him
bodily harm. He heard them stumbling and reeling up the steep stairs.
He heard, "Here, gimme that whip," and knew he was in peril, maybe
of his life, for they were whiskey-mad. He rose quickly, locked the
door, rolled up an old rag carpet, and put it in his bed. Then he gathered
his clothes on his arm, opened the window, and lowered himself till his
head only was above the sill, and his foot found a resting place. Thus
he awaited. The raucous breathing of the revellers was loud on the
stairs; then the door was tried; there was some muttering; then the door
was burst open and in rushed two, or perhaps three, figures. Rolf could
barely see in the gloom, but he knew that his uncle was one of them.
The attack they made with whip and stick on that roll of rags in the bed
would have broken his bones and left him shapeless, had he been in its
place. The men were laughing and took it all as a joke, but Rolf had
seen enough; he slipped to the ground and hurried away, realizing
perfectly well now that this was "good-bye."
Which way? How naturally his steps turned northward toward Redding,
the only other place he knew. But he had not gone a mile before he
stopped. The yapping of a coon dog came to him from the near woods
that lay to the westward along Asamuk. He tramped toward it. To find
the dog is one thing, to find the owner another; but they drew near at
last. Rolf gave the three yelps and Quonab responded.
"I am done with that crowd," said the boy. "They tried to kill me
tonight. Have you got room for me in your wigwam for a couple of
days?"
"Ugh, come," said the Indian.
That night, for the first time, Rolf slept in the outdoor air of a wigwam.
He slept late, and knew nothing of the world about him till Quonab

called him to breakfast.

Chapter 6.
Skookum Accepts Rolf at Last
Rolf expected that Micky would soon hear of his hiding place and
come within a few days, backed by a constable, to claim his runaway
ward. But a week went by and Quonab, passing through Myanos,
learned, first, that Rolf had been seen tramping northward on the road
to Dumpling Pond, and was now supposed to be back in Redding;
second, that Micky Kittering was lodged in jail under charge of
horse-stealing and would certainly get a long sentence; third, that his
wife had gone back to her own folks at Norwalk, and the house was
held by strangers.
All other doors were closed now, and each day that drifted by made it
the more clear that Rolf and Quonab were to continue together. What
boy would not exult at the thought of it? Here was freedom from a
brutal tyranny that was crushing out his young life; here was a dream of
the wild world coming true, with gratification of all the hunter instincts
that he had held in his heart for years, and nurtured in that single,
ragged volume of "Robinson Crusoe." The plunge was not a plunge,
except it be one when an eagle, pinion-bound, is freed and springs from
a cliff of the mountain to ride the mountain wind.
The memory of that fateful cooning day was deep and lasting. Never
afterward did smell of coon fail to bring it back; in spite of the many
evil incidents it was a smell of joy.
"Where are you going, Quonab?" he asked one morning, as he saw the
Indian rise at dawn and go forth with his song drum, after warming it