Skookum's voice also was heard in the thicket, and when they
neared and glimpsed the place, it was to see the monster on the
ground, lying at full length, dinging up his head at times when
he uttered that horrid sound of pain.

The Indian sent a bullet through the moose's brain; then all was
still, the tragedy was over.

But now their attention was turned to Van Cortlandt. He reeled,
staggered, his knees trembled, his face turned white, and, to
save himself from falling, he sank onto a log. Here he covered
his face with his hands, his feet beat the ground, and his
shoulders heaved up and down.

The others said nothing. They knew by the signs and the sounds
that it was only through a mighty effort that young Van
Cortlandt, grown man as he was, could keep himself from
hysterical sobs and tears.

Not then, but the next day it was that Quonab said: "It comes to
some after they kill, to some before, as it came to you, Rolf; to
me it came the day I killed my first chipmunk, that time when I
stole my father's medicine."

They had ample work for several hours now, to skin the game and
save the meat. It was fortunate they were so near home. A
marvellous change there was in the atmosphere of the camp. Twice
Quonab spoke to Van Cortlandt, as the latter laboured with them
to save and store the meat of his moose. He was rubbed, doped,
soiled, and anointed with its flesh, hair, and blood, and that