The coming of Van had compelled the trappers to build a new and much
larger cabin. When they were planning it, the lawyer said: “If I were,
you, I'd make it twenty by thirty, with a big stone fireplace.”
“Why?”
“I might want to come back some day and bring a friend.”
Rolf looked at him keenly. Here was an important possibility, but it
was too difficult to handle such large logs without a team; so the new
cabin was made fifteen by twenty, and the twenty-foot logs were very
slim indeed. Van Cortlandt took much trouble to fix it up inside with
two white birch bedsteads, balsam beds, and basswood mats on the floor.
After the first depression, he had recovered quickly since abandoning
his apothecary diet, and now he was more and more in their life, one of
themselves. But Quonab never liked him. The incident of the fire-making
was one of many which reduced him far below zero in the red man's
esteem. When he succeeded with the rubbing-stick fire, he rose a few
points; since then he had fallen a little, nearly every day, and now an
incident took place which reduced him even below his original low level.
In spite of his admirable perseverance, Van Cortlandt failed in his
attempts to get a deer. This was depressing and unfortunate because of
the Indian's evident contempt, shown, not in any act, but rather in his
avoiding Van and never noticing him; while Van, on his part, discovered
that, but for this, that, and the other negligence on Quonab's part, he
himself might have done thus and so.
To relieve the situation, Rolf said privately to the Indian, “Can't we
find some way of giving him a deer?”
“Humph,” was the voluble reply.
“I've heard of that jack-light trick. Can ye work it?”
“Ugh!”
So it was arranged.
Quonab prepared a box which he filled with sand. On three sides of it
he put a screen of bark, eighteen inches high, and in the middle he
made a good torch of pine knots with a finely frizzled lighter of birch
bark. Ordinarily this is placed on the bow of the canoe, and, at the
right moment, is lighted by the sportsman. But Quonab distrusted Van as
a lighter, so placed this ancient search-light on the after thwart in
front of himself and pointing forward, but quartering.
The scheme is to go along the lake shore about dark, as the deer come
to the water to drink or eat lily pads. As soon as a deer is located by
the sound, the canoe is silently brought to the place, the torch is
lighted, the deer stops to gaze at this strange sunrise; its body is
not usually visible in the dim light, but the eyes reflect the glare
like two lamps; and now the gunner, with a volley of buckshot, plays
his part. It is the easiest and most unsportsmanlike of all methods. It
has long been declared illegal; and was especially bad, because it
victimized chiefly the does and fawns.
But now it seemed the proper way to “save Van Cortlandt's face.”
So forth they went; Van armed with his double-barrelled shotgun and
carrying in his belt a huge and ornamental hunting knife, the badge of
woodcraft or of idiocy, according as yon took Van's view or Quonab's.
Rolf stayed in camp.
At dusk they set out, a slight easterly breeze compelling them to take
the eastern shore, for the deer must not smell them. As they silently
crossed the lake, the guide's quick eye caught sight of a long wimple
on the surface, across the tiny ripples of the breeze--surely the wake
of some large animal, most likely a deer. Good luck. Putting on all
speed, he sent the canoe flying after it, and in three or four minutes
they sighted a large, dark creature moving fast to escape, but it was
low on the water, and had no horns. They could not make out what it
was. Van sat tensely gazing, with gun in hand, but the canoe overran
the swimmer; it disappeared under the prow, and a moment later there
scrambled over the gunwale a huge black fisher.
“Knife,” cried Quonab, in mortal fear that Van would shoot and blow a
hole throught the canoe.
The fisher went straight at the lawyer hissing and snarling with voice
like a bear.
Van grasped his knife, and then and there began A most extraordinary
fight; holding his assailant off as best he could, he stabbed again and
again with that long blade. But the fisher seemed cased in iron. The
knife glanced off or was solidly stopped again and again, while the
fierce, active creature, squirming, struggling, clawing, and tearing
had wounded the lawyer in a dozen places. Jab, jab went the knife in
vain. The fisher seemed to gain in strength and fury. It fastened on
Van's leg just below the knee, and grow/ed and tore like a bulldog. Van
seized its throat in both hands and choked with all his strength. The
brute at length let go and sprang back to attack again, when Quonab saw
his chance and felled it with a blow of the paddle across the nose. It
tumbled forward; Van lunged to avoid what seemed a new attack, and in a
moment the canoe upset, and all were swimming for their lives.
As luck would have it, they had drifted to the west side and the water
was barely six feet deep. So Quonab swam ashore holding onto a paddle,
and hauling the canoe, while Van waded ashore, hauling the dead fisher
by the tail.
Quonab seized a drift pole and stuck it in the mud as near the place as
possible, so they could come again in daylight to get the guns; then
silently paddled back to camp.
Next day, thanks to the pole, they found the place and recovered first
Van's gun, second, that mighty hunting knife; and learned to the
amazement and disgust of all that it had not been out of its sheath:
during all that stabbing and slashing, the keen edge was hidden and the
knife was wearing its thick, round scabbard of leather and studs of
brass.