is back, his legs convulsively waving in the
air, and Skookum tugging valiantly at his tail.

"My panther," he seemed to say; "whatever would you do without me?"

A panther in a deer yard is much like a wolf shut up in a sheepfold. He
would probably have killed all the deer that winter, though there were
ten times as many as he needed for food; and getting rid of him was a
piece of good luck for hunters and deer, while his superb hide made a
noble trophy that in years to come had unexpected places of honour.

Chapter 43. Sunday in the Woods

Rolf still kept to the tradition of Sunday, and Quonab had in a manner
accepted it. It was a curious fact that the red man had far more
toleration for the white man's religious ideas than the white man had
for the red's.

Quonab's songs to the sun and the spirit, or his burning of a tobacco
pinch, or an animal's whiskers were to Rolf but harmless nonsense. Had
he given them other names, calling them hymns and incense, he would
have been much nearer respecting them. He had forgotten his mother's
teaching: "If any man do anything sincerely, believing that thereby he
is worshipping God, he is worshipping God." He disliked seeing Quonab
use an axe or a gun on Sunday, and the Indian, realizing that such
action made "evil medicine" for Rolf, practically abstained. But Rolf
had not yet learned to respect the red yarns the Indian hung from a
deer's skull, though he did come to understand that he must let them
alone or produce bad feeling in camp.

Sunday had become a day of rest and Quonab made it also a day of song
and remembrance.

They were sitting one Sunday night by the fire in the cabin, enjoying
the blaze, while a storm rattled on the window and door. A white-footed
mouse, one of a family that lived in the shanty, was trying how close he
could come to Skookum's nose without being caught, while Rolf looked
on. Quonab was lying back on a pile of deer skins, with his pipe in his
mouth, his head on the bunk, and his hands clasped back of his neck.

There was an atmosphere of content and brotherly feeling; the evening
was young, when Rolf broke silence:

"Were you ever married, Quonab?"

"Ugh," was the Indian's affirmative.

"Where?"

"Myanos."

Rolf did not venture more questions, but left the influence of the hour
to work. It was a moment of delicate poise, and Rolf knew a touch would
open the door or double bar it. He wondered how he might give that touch
as he wis