fter hour Mrs. Delorme would go to the
door, shade her eyes with her hand, and look keenly up the mountain
slopes, with their wilderness of pines. Once she saw a faint, blue puff
of smoke, and her quick ear caught the sharp crack of a far-off rifle.
Then all was silent for hours. The warm September sun had dropped behind
the western peaks, and the canyons were purpling with oncoming twilight,
when two quick successive shots broke the evening stillness, and echoed
like a salute of twenty-one guns far down the valley. Mrs. Delorme ran
once again to the door. The shots could not have been five hundred yards
distant, for down through the firs came Royal, the magnificent hound,
whining and grinning and licking his mouth with delight, and, behind
him, Maurice, shouting that he had killed a deer, and was hungry enough
to eat half of it himself.

"And, mother," he cried, "I could have got the game at noon to-day,
but Royal and I have been hours and hours closing in on him, getting
him into the runway, so that, when I did drop him, it would be near
home, for I could never pack his carcass all that way. He must weigh
two hundred and fifty pounds. Oh, but he's a fat one. And here are some
mountain grouse Roy and I got. Daddy will have all the broth he can
drink, and you and old Roy here and I will have some venison steaks for
supper!"

So, breathless and proud and excited, Maurice chattered on, preparing
a huge knife to quarter the deer, the more easily to pack it home.

There was great rejoicing in the log shack that night. Old Maurice
swallowed his bowl of hot grouse soup with relish, and clasped his son's
hand with the firm grip one man gives to another. The anxious lines left
Mrs. Delorme's face, as she laughed and praised young Maurice's prowess
as a bread-winner. Royal stretched his long, lithe legs, yawning audibly
with weariness and content as he lay beside the stove sniffing the
appetizing smells of broiling steaks, knowing well his share would be
generous after his long and faithful hunt and obedience to his young
master. And so the little mountain home was well supplied with fresh
meat, hot soups, smoked venison hams and dried flitches, until the day
of fresh supplies, when the primitive steamer tooted its shrill whistle
far down the lake, and Mrs. Delorme, young Maurice and Royal all went
down to greet the first fellow-beings they had seen for a month, and to
receive and care for seven bags of His Majesty's mails, bo