the buck bound in air, then make for
the wood with great, high leaps; the dash of disappointment was on him,
but Quonab stood erect, with right hand raised, and shouted:

"Ho--ho."

He knew that those bounds were unnecessarily high, and before the woods
had swallowed up the buck, it fell--rose--and fell again, to rise not.
The arrow had pierced its heart.

Then Rolf rushed up with kindled eye and exultant pride to slap his
friend on the back, and exclaim:

"I never thought it possible; the greatest feat in hunting I ever saw;
you are a wonder!"

To which the Indian softly replied, as he smiled:

"Ho! it was so I got eleven British sentries in the war. They gave me a
medal with Washington's head."

"They did! how is it I never heard of it? Where is it?"

The Indian's face darkened. "I threw it after the ship that stole my
Gamowini."

Chapter 67. Rolf Meets a Canuck

The winter might have been considered eventful, had not so many of the
events been repetitions of former experience. But there were several
that by their newness deserve a place on these pages, as they did in
Rolf's memory.

One of them happened soon after the first sharp frost. It had been an
autumn of little rain, so that many ponds had dried up, with the
result that hundreds of muskrats were forced out to seek more habitable
quarters. The first time Rolf saw one of these stranded mariners on its
overland journey, he gave heedless chase. At first it made awkward haste
to escape; then a second muskrat was discovered just ahead, and a third.
This added to Rolf's interest. In a few bounds he was among them, but it
was to get a surprise. Finding themselves overtaken, the muskrats turned
in desperation and attacked the common enemy with courage and fury. Rolf
leaped over the first, but the second sprang, caught him by the slack
of the trouser leg, and hung on. The third flung itself on his foot and
drove its sharp teeth through the moccasin. Quickly the first rallied
and sprang on his other leg with all the force of its puny paws, and
powerful jaws.

Meanwhile Quonab was laughing aloud and holding back Skookum, who,
breathing fire and slaughter, was mad to be in the fight.

"Ho! a good fight! good musquas! Ho, Skookum, you must not always take
care of him, or he will not learn to go alone.

"Ugh, good!" as the third muskrat gripped Rolf by the calf.

There could be but one finish, and that not long delayed. A well-placed
kick on one, the