with a long pole, till all at once
there was a scrambling noise and the bag bulged full and heavy. Rolf
closed its mouth triumphantly. The Indian laughed lightly, then swung to
the ground.

"Now, what will you do with him?" asked Rolf.

"Train coon dog," was the answer.

"Where?"

The Indian pointed toward the Asamuk Pond.

"Are you the singing Indian that lives under Ab's Rock?

"Ugh! [*] Some call me that. My name is Quonab."

"Wait for an hour and then I will come and help," volunteered Rolf
impulsively, for the hunting instinct was strong in him.

The Indian nodded. "Give three yelps if you no find me;" then he
shouldered a short stick, from one end of which, at a safe distance from
his back, hung the bag with the coon. And Rolf went home with the cow.

He had acted on hasty impulse in offering to come, but now, in the
normal storm state of the household, the difficulties of the course
appeared. He cudgelled his brain for some plan to account for his
absence, and finally took refuge unwittingly in ancient wisdom: "When
you don't know a thing to do, don't do a thing." Also, "If you can't
find the delicate way, go the blunt way."

So having fed the horses, cleaned the stable, and milked the cow, fed
the pigs, the hens, the calf, harnessed the horses, cut and brought in
wood for the woodshed, turned out the sheep, hitched the horses to the
wagon, set the milk out in the creaming pans, put more corn to soak for
the swill barrel, ground the house knife, helped to clear the breakfast
things, replaced the fallen rails of a fence, brought up potatoes from
the root cellar, all to the maddening music of a scolding tongue, he set
out to take the cow back to the wood lot, sullenly resolved to return
when ready.

* Ugh (yes) and wah (no) are Indianisms that continue no
matter how well the English has been acquired.

Chapter 4. The Coon Hunt Makes Trouble for Rolf

Not one hour, but nearly three, had passed before Rolf sighted the
Pipestave Pond, as it was called. He had never been there before, but
three short whoops, as arranged, brought answer and guidance. Quonab was
standing on the high rock. When Rolf came he led down to the wigwam on
its south side. It was like stepping into a new life. Several of the
old neighbours at Redding were hunters who knew the wild Indians and had
told him tales that glorified at least the wonderful woodcraft of the
red man. Once or twice Rolf had seen Indians trave