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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 wished it。 Skookum still
slept。 Both men watched the mouse； as； with quick movements it
crept about。 Presently it approached a long birch stick that
stood up against the wall。 High hanging was the song…drum。 Rolf
wished Quonab would take it and let it open his heart； but he
dared not offer it； that might have the exact wrong effect。 Now
the mouse was behind the birch stick。 Then Rolf noticed that the
stick if it were to fall would strike a drying line； one end of
which was on the song…drum peg。 So he made a dash at the mouse
and displaced the stick； the jerk it gave the line sent the
song…drum with hollow bumping to the ground。 The boy stooped to
replace it； as he did； Quonab grunted and Rolf turned to see his
hand stretched for the drum。 Had Rolf officiously offered it； it
would have been refused； now the Indian took it； tapped and
warmed it at the fire； and sang a song of the Wabanaki。 It was
softly done； and very low； but Rolf was close； for almost the
first time in any long rendition； and he got an entirely new
notion of the red music。 The singer's face brightened as he
tummed and sang with peculiar grace notes and throat warbles of
〃Kaluscap's war with the magi；〃 and the spirit of his people；
rising to the sweet magic of melody； came shining in his eyes。
He sang the lovers' song； 〃The Bark Canoe。〃 （See F。 R。 Burton's
〃American Primitive Music。）
〃While the stars shine and falls the dew； I seek my love in bark canoe。〃
And then the cradle song；
〃The Naked Bear Shall Never Catch Thee。〃
When he stopped； he stared at the fire； and after a long pause
Rolf ventured； 〃My mother would have loved your songs。〃
Whether he heard or not； the warm emanation surely reached the
Indian； and he began to answer the question of an hour before：
〃Her name was Gamowini； for she sang like the sweet night bird at
Asamuk。 I brought her from her father's house at Saugatuck。 We
lived at Myanos。 She made beautiful baskets and moccasins。 I
fished and trapped； we had enough。 Then the baby came。 He had
big round eyes； so we called him Wee…wees； 'our little owl；' and
we were very happy。 When Gamowini sang to her baby； the world
seemed full of sun。 One day when Wee…wees could walk she left
him with me and she went to Stamford with some baskets to sell。
A big ship was in the harbour。 A man from the ship told her that
his sailors would buy all her baskets。 She had no fear。 On the
ship they seized her for a runaway slave； and hid her till they
sailed away。
〃When she did not come back I took Wee…wees on my shoulder and
went quickly to Stamford。 I soon found out a little； but the
people did not know the ship； or whence she came； or where she
went； they said。 They did not seem to care。 My heart grew
hotter and wilder。 I wanted to fight。 I would have killed the
men on the dock； but they were many。 They bound me and put me in
jail for three months。 'When I came out Wee…wees was dead。 They
did not care。 I have heard nothing since。 Then I went to live
under the rock； so I should not see our first home。 I do not
know； she may be alive。 But I think it killed her to lose her baby。〃
The Indian stopped； then rose quickly。 His face was hard set。
He stepped out into the snowstorm and the night。 Rolf was left
alone with Skookum。
Sad； sad； everything seemed sad in his friend's life； and Rolf；
brooding over it with wisdom beyond his years； could not help
asking： 〃Had Quonab and Gamowini been white folk； would it have
happened so？ Would his agony have been received with scornful
indifference？ Alas！ he knew it would not。 He realized it would
have been a very different tale； and the sequent questions that
would not down； were； 〃Will this bread cast on the waters return
after many days？〃 〃Is there a God of justice and retribution？〃
〃On whom will the flail of vengeance fall for all these abominations？〃
Two hours later the Indian returned。 No word was spoken as he
entered。 He was not cold。 He must have walked far。 Rolf
prepared for bed。 The Indian stooped； picked up a needle from
the dusty ground； one that had been lost the day before； silently
handed it to his companion； who gave only a recognizant 〃Hm；〃
and dropped it into the birch…bark box。
Chapter 44。 The Lost Bundle of Furs
There had been a significant cessation of robbery on their trap
line after the inconclusive visit to the enemy's camp。 But a new
and extreme exasperation arose in the month of March； when the
alternation of thaw and frost had covered the snow with a hard
crust that rendered snowshoes unnecessary and made it easy to run
anywhere and leave no track。
They had gathered up a fisher and some martens before they
reached the beaver pond。 They had no beaver traps now； but it
was interesting to call and see how many of the beavers were
left； and what they were doing。
Bubbling springs on the bank of the pond had made open water at
several places； now that the winter frost was weakening。 Out of
these the beavers often came； as was plainly seen in the tracks；
so the trappers approached them carefully。
They were scrutinizing one of them from behind a log； Quonab with
ready gun； Rolf holding the unwilling Skookum； when the familiar
broad； flat head appeared。 A large beaver swam around the hole；
sniffed and looked； then silently climbed the bank； evidently
making for a certain aspen tree that he had already been cutting。
He was in easy range； and the gunner was about to fire when Rolf
pressed his arm and pointed。 Here； wandering through the wood；
came a large lynx。 It had not seen or smelt any of the living
creatures ahead； as yet； but speedily sighted the beaver now
working away to cut down his tree。
As a pelt； the beaver was worth more than the lynx； but the
naturalist is strong in most hunters； and they watched to see
what would happen。
The lynx seemed to sink into the ground； and was lost to sight as
soon as he knew of a possible prey ahead。 And now he began his
stalk。 The hunters sighted him once as he crossed a level
opening in the snow。 He seemed less than four inches high as he
crawled。 Logs； ridges； trees； or twigs； afforded ample
concealment； till his whiskers appeared in a thicket within
fifteen feet of the beaver。
All this was painfully exciting to Skookum； who； though he could
not see； could get some thrilling whiffs； and he strained forward
to improve his opportuni