t gnashed his teeth to find
no sign of blood, and he burned with a raging animal sense that was
neither love nor hate. Within a mile there was a new sign that joined
on and filled him with another rage and shed light on many a bloody
page of frontier history--a moccasin-track, a straight-set,
broad-toed, moosehide track, the track of a Cree brave. He followed in
savage humor, and as he careered up a slope a tall form rose from a
log, raising one hand in peaceable gesture. Although Yan was behind,
the Indian had seen him first.

"Who are you?" said Yan, roughly.

"Chaska."

"What are you doing in my country?"

"It was my country first," he replied gravely.

"Those are my deer," Yan said, and thought.

"No man owns wild deer till he kills them," said Chaska.

"You better keep off any trail I'm following."

"Not afraid," said he, and made a gesture to include the whole
settlement, then added gently, "No good to fight; the best man will
get the most deer anyhow."

[Illustration]

And the end of it was that Yan stayed for several days with Chaska,
and got, not an antlered buck indeed, but, better far, an insight into
the ways of a man who could hunt. The Indian taught him _not_ to
follow the trail over the hills, for deer watch their back track, and
cross the hills to make this more easy. He taught him to tell by touch
and smell of sign just how far ahead they are, as well as the size and
condition of the deer, and not to trail closely when the game is near.
He taught him to study the wind by raising his moistened finger in the
air, and Yan thought, "Now I know why a deer's nose is always moist,
for he must always watch the wind." He showed Yan how much may be
gained at times by patient waiting, and that it is better to tread
like an Indian with foot set straight, for thereby one gains an inch
or two at each stride and can come back in one's own track through
deep snow. And he also unwittingly taught him that an Indian _cannot_
shoot with a rifle, and Natty Bumpo's adage came to mind, "A white man
can shoot with a gun, but it ain't accordin' to an Injun's gifts."

[Illustration]

Sometimes they went out together and sometimes singly. One day, while
out alone, Yan had followed a deer-track into a thicket by what is
now called Chaska Lake. The sign was fresh, and as he sneaked around
there was a rustle in the brush. Then he saw the kinnikinnick boughs
shaking. His gun flew up and covered the spot. As soon as he