"Well, I'm a tottering imbecile. What's the matter with my legs?--my
prophetic soul, it hurts! Oh, I see; that's where the old warrior's hoof
caught me sideways. Now, I'll tell you what, I'm going to have another
moose to take back to Marigold Lake."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I'm going to take back a young, live moose."

"A significant ambition. For what?--a sacrifice to the gods you have
offended in your classic existence?"

"Both. A peace-offering, and a sacrifice to--a goddess."

"Young man," said the other, the light of a smile playing on his lips,
"'Prosperity be thy page!' Big Moccasin, what of this young live moose?"

The Indian shook his head doubtfully.

"But I tell you I shall have that live moose, if I have to stay here to
see it grow."

And Malbrouck liked his pluck, and wished him good luck. And the good
luck came. They travelled back slowly to the Height of Land, making a
circuit. For a week they saw no more moose; but meanwhile Gregory's hurt
quickly healed. They had now left only eight days in which to get back
to Dog Ear River and Marigold Lake. If the young moose was to come
it must come soon. It came soon.