Now they must prepare for
the serious work of finding a hunting ground that was not already
claimed.
Quonab, remembering the ancient law of the woods, that parcels
off the valleys, each to the hunter first arriving, or succeeding
the one who had, was following his own line of thought. Rolf was
puzzling over means to get an outfit, canoe, traps, axes, and
provisions. The boy broke silence.
"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. To the nearest one with standing grain Rolf led
the way. But their reception, from the first brush with the dog
to the final tilt with the farmer, was unpleasant -- "He didn't
want any darn red-skins around there. He had had two St. Regis
Indians last year, and they were a couple of drunken good-
for-nothings."
The next was the house of a fat Dutchman, who was just wondering
how he should meet the compounded accumulated emergencies of late
hay, early oats, weedy potatoes, lost cattle, and a prospective
increase of his family, when two angels of relief appeared at his
door, in copper-coloured skins.
Pages:
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97