a shot and very
soon Rolf reappeared, carrying a two-year-old buck, and they returned
to their camp by nightfall. Quonab glanced at their faces as they passed
carrying the little buck. They tried to look inscrutable. But the Indian
was not deceived. He gave out nothing but a sizzling "Humph!"

Chapter 63. The Redemption of Van

"WHEN things is looking black as black can be, it's a sure sign of luck
coming your way." so said Si Sylvanne, and so it proved to Van Cortlandt
The Moon of the Falling Leaves was waning, October was nearly over, the
day of his return to Albany was near, as he was to go out in time for
the hunters to return in open water. He was wonderfully improved in
strength and looks. His face was brown and ruddy. He had abandoned all
drugs, and had gained fully twenty pounds in weight. He had learned to
make a fire, paddle a canoe, and go through the woods in semi-silence.
His scholarly talk had given him large place in Rolf's esteem, and
his sweet singing had furnished a tiny little shelf for a modicum of
Quonab's respect. But his attempts to get a deer were failures. "You
come back next year with proper, farsight glasses and you'll all right,"
said Rolf; and that seemed the one ray of hope.

The three days' storm had thrown so many trees that the hunters decided
it would be worth while making a fast trip down to Eagle's Nest, to cut
such timber as might have fallen across the stream, and so make an easy
way for when they should have less time.

The surmise was quite right. Much new-fallen timber was now across
the channel. They chopped over twenty-five trunks before they reached
Eagle's Nest at noon, and, leaving the river in better shape than ever
it was, they turned, for the swift, straight, silent run of ten miles
home.

As they rounded the last point, a huge black form in the water loomed to
view. Skookum's bristles rose. Quonab whispered, "Moose! Shoot quick!"
Van was the only one with a gun. The great black beast stood for a
moment, gazing at them with wide-open eyes, ears, and nostrils, then
shook his broad horns, wheeled, and dashed for the shore. Van fired
and the bull went down with a mighty splash among the lilies. Rolf and
Skookum let off a succession of most unhunterlike yells of triumph. But
the giant sprang up again and reached the shore, only to fall to Van
Cortlandt's second barrel. Yet the stop was momentary; he rose and
dashed into the cover. Quonab turned the canoe at once and