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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 at the fire。 He pointed up to the rock； and for the
first time Rolf heard the chant for the sunrise。 Later he heard
the Indian's song for 〃Good Hunting；〃 and another for 〃When His
Heart Was Bad。〃 They were prayers or praise； all addressed to the
Great Spirit； or the Great Father； and it gave Rolf an entirely
new idea of the red man； and a startling light on himself。 Here
was the Indian； whom no one considered anything but a hopeless
pagan； praying to God for guidance at each step in life； while he
himself； supposed to be a Christian； had not prayed regularly for
months was in danger of forgetting how。
Yet there was one religious observance that Rolf never forgot
that was to keep the Sabbath； and on that day each week he did
occasionally say a little prayer his mother had taught him。 He
avoided being seen at such times and did not speak of kindred
doings。 Whereas Quonab neither hid nor advertised his religious
practices； and it was only after many Sundays had gone that
Quonab remarked：
〃Does your God come only one day of the week？ Does He sneak in
after dark？ Why is He ashamed that you only whisper to Him？
Mine is here all the time。 I can always reach Him with my song；
all days are my Sunday。〃
The evil memories of his late life were dimming quickly； and the
joys of the new one growing。 Rolf learned early that； although
one may talk of the hardy savage； no Indian seeks for hardship。
Everything is done that he knows to make life pleasant； and of
nothing is he more careful than the comfort of his couch。 On the
second day； under guidance of his host； Rolf set about making his
own bed。 Two logs； each four inches thick and three feet long；
were cut。 Then two strong poles； each six feet long； were laid
into notches at the ends of the short logs。 About seventy…five
straight sticks of willow were cut and woven with willow bark
into a lattice； three feet wide and six feet long。 This； laid on
the poles； furnished a spring mattress； on which a couple of
blankets made a most comfortable couch； dry； warm； and off the
ground。 In addition to the lodge cover； each bed had a dew cloth
which gave perfect protection； no matter how the storm might rage
outdoors。 There was no hardship in it； only a new…found
pleasure； to sleep and breathe the pure night air of the woods。
The Grass Moon … April … had passed； and the Song Moon was
waxing； with its hosts of small birds； and one of Rolf's early
discoveries was that many of these love to sing by night。 Again
and again the familiar voice of the song sparrow came from the
dark shore of Asamuk； or the field sparrow trilled from the top
of some cedar； occasionally the painted one； Aunakeu； the
partridge； drummed in the upper woods； and nightly there was the
persistent chant of Muckawis； the whippoorwill； the myriad voices
of the little frogs called spring…peepers； and the peculiar；
〃peent； peent；〃 from the sky； followed by a twittering； that
Quonab told him was the love song of the swamp bird the big
snipe； with the fantail and long； soft bill； and eyes like a
deer。
〃Do you mean the woodcock？〃
〃Ugh； that's the name； Pah…dash…ka…anja we call it。〃
The waning of the moon brought new songsters； with many a
nightingale among them。 A low bush near the plain was vocal
during the full moon with the sweet but disconnected music of the
yellow…breasted chat。 The forest rang again and again with a
wild； torrential strain of music that seemed to come from the
stars。 It sent peculiar thrill into Rolf's heart； and gave him a
lump his throat as he listened。
〃What is that； Quonab？〃
〃The Indian shook his head。 Then； later； when it ended； he said：
〃That is the mystery song of some one I never saw him。〃
There was a long silence； then the lad began； 〃There's no good
hunting here now； Quonab。 Why don't you go to the north woods；
where deer are plentiful？〃
The Indian gave a short shake of his head； and then to prevent
further talk； 〃Put up your dew cloth； the sea wind blows
to…night。〃
He fini