at the deer
an hour earlier.

"Next time you shoot at a bear twenty feet away, don't leave your
sights set for two hundred yards," was all Scott said.

CHAPTER VIII

The bruises that Bucks nursed were tender for some days, and Scott
tried out some bear's grease for an ointment.

Scuffy, who had come out of the fight without a scratch, took on new
airs in camp, and returned evil for evil by bullying the two wounded
hounds who were too surprised by his aggressiveness to make an
effective defence.

Bucks, when he was alone with the dog and time dragged heavily, turned
for diversion to the only book in the camp, a well-thumbed copy of
"The Last of the Mohicans." He had brought it with him to read coming
out from Pittsburgh, and had thrown it into his bag when leaving
Medicine Bend. In camp it proved a treasure, even the troopers, when
they were idle, casting lots to get hold of it.

One day, when Bucks was absorbed in the romance, Bob Scott asked him
what he was reading. Bucks tried to give him some idea of the story.
Scott showed little apparent interest in the resume, but he listened
respectfully while cleaning his rifle. He made no comment until Bucks
had done.

"What kind of Indians did you say those were," he asked, contracting
his brows as he did when a subject perplexed him, "Uncas and
Chingachgook?"

"Delawares, Bob. Know anything about Delaware Indians?"

Scott shook his head. "Never heard of Delawares in our country. I saw
a Pottawottamie Indian once, but never any Delawares. Is this story
about Uncas a true story?"

"As true as any story. Listen here." Bucks read aloud to him for a
while, his companion at intervals asking questions and approving or
criticising the Indian classic.

"If you could only read, Bob, you ought to read the whole book," said
Bucks regretfully, as he put the volume aside.

"I can read a little," returned Scott, to Bucks's surprise. "All
except the long words," added the scout modestly. "A man down at
Medicine Bend tried to sell me a pair of spectacles once. They had
gold rims, and he told me that a man with those spectacles could read
any kind of a book. He thought I was a greenhorn," said the scout.

"Where did you learn to read?"

"A Blackrobe taught me."

Bucks held out the book. "Then read this, Bob, sure."

Scott looked at the worn volume, but shook his head doubtfully. "Looks
like a pretty big book for me. But if you can find out whether it's
true, I m