The trees, denuded of vegetation, projected their bare limbs into the crystalline air, and here and there, where they leaned over the banks, were thrown in relief against the moonlit sky beyond.  The moon itself was nearly in the zenith, and the reflected gleam from the glassy surface made the light almost like that of day.  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.  Then Jennie’s musical voice rang out on the frosty air, but still the hunter gave no sign that he knew he had been addressed.  He did not move an arm nor stir.

“I wonder whether he hasn’t frozen stiff in that position,” remarked Sterry.  “He may have been caught in the first snap several weeks ago and has been acting ever since as his own monument.”

At the moment of shooting out of sight around the curve the three glanced back.  The old fellow was there, just as they saw him at first.  They even fancied he had not so much as turned his head while they were passing, but was still gazing at the bank opposite him, or, what was more likely, peering sideways without shifting his head to any extent.