“Well, can ye see that loon out there?”
“You mean that long, dark thing in the bay?”
“No, that's a pine log close to,” said Rolf, with a laugh, “away out half a mile.”
“No, I can't see anything but shimmers.”
“I thought so. It's no use your trying to shoot deer till ye get a pair of specs to fit yer eyes. You have brains enough, but you haven't got the eyesight of a hunter. You stay here till I go see if I have any luck.”
Rolf melted into the woods. In twenty minutes Van heard 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.