In less than a week they were home, and none too soon; for
already the trees were bare, and they had to break the ice on the
river before they ended their trip.

Rolf had gathered many ideas the last two-months. He did not
propose to continue all his life as a trapper. He wanted to see
New York. He wanted to plan for the future. He needed money for
his plans. He and Quonab had been running a hundred miles of
traps, but some men run more than that single handed. They must
get out two new lines at once, before the frost came. One of
these they laid up the Hudson, above Eagle's Nest; the other
northerly on Blue Mountain, toward Racquet River. Doing this was
hard work, and when they came again to their cabin the robins had
gone from the bleak and leafless woods; the grouse were making
long night flights; the hollows had tracks of racing deer; there
was a sense of omen, a length of gloom, for the Mad Moon was
afloat in the shimmering sky; its wan light ghasted all the
hills.

Next day the lake was covered with thin, glare ice; on the glassy
surface near the shore were two ducks floundering. The men went
as near as they could, and Quonab said, " No, not duck, but
Shingebis, divers.

They cannot rise except from water. In the night the new ice
looks like water; they come down and cannot rise. I have often
seen it." Two days after, a harder frost came on. The ice was
safe for a dog; the divers or grebes were still on its surface.
So they sent Skookum. He soon returned with two beautiful grebes,