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It was rather late when he started home and in the knowledge that darkness might find him well up the river he hurried. Now, from the Bight of Tyee to a point some five miles above Darrow, the Skookum flows in almost a straight line; the few bends are wide and gradual, and when The Laird came to this home-stretch he urged the boat to its maximum speed of twenty-eight miles per hour.
Not a quarter of the carcasses lying here did he eat; he was feeding at least a score of ravens, and maybe foxes, martens, and lynxes as well. Before killing a deer, Quonab thought it well to take a quiet prowl around in hopes of seeing the panther. Skookum was turned loose and encouraged to display his talents.
Kama came back, sat down on the edge of the spruce boughs, and in the interval of waiting, mended harness. "I t'ink dat Skookum and Booga make um plenty fight maybe," Kama remarked, as they sat down to eat. "Keep an eye on them," was Daylight's answer. And this was their sole conversation throughout the meal.
That is, three hundred times a day his outer ear submitted to his inner ear some report of things a-doing, which same report was as often for many days disregarded as of no interest or value. But this did not mean that he missed anything; the steady tramp, tramp of their feet, while it dulled all sounds for the hunter, seemed to have no effect on Skookum.
The Birch-bark Vessels Rolf was sore and stiff for a week afterward; so was Skookum. There were times when Quonab was cold, moody, and silent for days. Then some milder wind would blow in the region of his heart and the bleak ice surface melted into running rills of memory or kindly emanation. Just before the buck adventure, there had been an unpleasant time of chill and aloofness.
In the middle of the night Skookum rushed forth barking, and they followed to see a wild struggle, the fox leaping to escape and fast to his foot was the trap with its anchor stone a-dragging. Then was repeated the scene that ended the struggle of mink and marten. The creature's hind feet were tied together and his body hung from a peg in the shanty.
"The next time he wires in to have a second mate join the ship when he touches in here, you might be good enough to call me up. I have a skookum young second mate in the Florence Ricks that I'm training for a captain, and I want to switch him in on the Humboldt Bay run for the sake of the experience.
Quonab was back; that is, he was at the lake shore, and Skookum had made haste to plunge into the joys and gayeties of this social centre, without awaiting the formalities of greeting or even of dry-shod landing. The next scene was a big, high post, a long, strong chain and a small, sad dog. "Ho, Quonab, you found your people? You had a good time?"
"Ugh, good!" as the third muskrat gripped Rolf by the calf. There could be but one finish, and that not long delayed. A well-placed kick on one, the second swung by the tail, the third crushed under his heel, and the affair ended. Rolf had three muskrats and five cuts. Quonab had much joy and Skookum a sense of lost opportunity. "This we should paint on the wigwam," said Quonab.
In his hand he held the long trace of his toboggan, ten feet behind was Quonab with the short trace, while Skookum trotted before, beside, or behind, as was dictated by his general sense of responsibility. It was quite dark now. There was no moon, the wooded shore was black.
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