Along the shore, however, the shadows were so gloomy and threatening that Monteith Sterry more than once gave a slight shudder and reached his mittened hand down to his side to make sure his weapon was in place.
The course was sinuous from the beginning, winding in and out so continuously that the length of the stream must have been double that of the straight line extending over the same course.

Some of these turnings were abrupt, and there were long, sweeping curves with a view extending several hundred yards.
They were spinning around one of these, when Sterry uttered an exclamation: "I'm disappointed!" "Why ?" inquired Jennie, at his elbow.
"I had just wrought myself up to the fancy that we were pioneers, the first people of our race to enter this primeval wilderness, when lo!" He extended his arm up-stream and to the right, where a star-like twinkle showed that a dwelling stood, or some parties had kindled a camp-fire.
"Quance, an old fisherman and hunter, lives, there," explained Fred, "as I believe he has done for fifty years." "Would you like to make a call on him ?" asked Jennie.
"I have no desire to do so; I enjoy this sport better than to sit by the fire and listen to the most entertaining hunter.

Isn't that he ?" The cabin was several rods from the shore, the space in front being clear of trees and affording an unobstructed view of the little log structure, with its single door and window in front, and the stone chimney from which the smoke was ascending.

Half-way between the cabin and the stream, and in the path connecting the two, stood a man with folded arms looking at them.

He was so motionless that he suggested a stump, but the bright moonlight left no doubt of his identity.
"Holloa, Quance!" shouted Fred, slightly slackening his speed and curving in toward shore.
The old man made no reply.