Bucks, when he was alone with the dog and time dragged heavily, turned for diversion to the only book in the camp, a well-thumbed copy of "The Last of the Mohicans." He had brought it with him to read coming out from Pittsburgh, and had thrown it into his bag when leaving Medicine Bend. In camp it proved a treasure, even the troopers, when they were idle, casting lots to get hold of it. One day, when Bucks was absorbed in the romance, Bob Scott asked him what he was reading. Bucks tried to give him some idea of the story. Scott showed little apparent interest in the résumé, but he listened respectfully while cleaning his rifle. He made no comment until Bucks had done. "What kind of Indians did you say those were," he asked, contracting his brows as he did when a subject perplexed him, "Uncas and Chingachgook?" "Delawares, Bob. Know anything about Delaware Indians?" Scott shook his head. "Never heard of Delawares in our country. I saw a Pottawottamie Indian once, but never any Delawares. Is this story about Uncas a true story?" "As true as any story. Listen here." Bucks read aloud to him for a while, his companion at intervals asking questions and approving or criticising the Indian classic. "If you could only read, Bob, you ought to read the whole book," said Bucks regretfully, as he put the volume aside. "I can read a little," returned Scott, to Bucks's surprise. "All except the long words," added the scout modestly. "A man down at Medicine Bend tried to sell me a pair of spectacles once. They had gold rims, and he told me that a man with those spectacles could read any kind of a book. He thought I was a greenhorn," said the scout. "Where did you learn to read?" "A Blackrobe taught me." Bucks held out the book. "Then read this, Bob, sure." Scott looked at the worn volume, but shook his head doubtfully. "Looks like a pretty big book for me. But if you can find out whether it's true, I might try it sometime." Stanley, after a few days, started up the river with Scott and Dancing, leaving his men in camp. Bucks, who was still too stiff to ride, likewise remained to receive any messages that might come. There was an abundance of water-fowl in the sloughs and ponds up and down the river, and Bucks, the morning after Stanley's departure, leaving the troopers lounging in camp, started out with a shot-gun to look for ducks. He passed the first bend up-stream, and working his way toward a small pond thickly fringed with alders, where he had often seen teal and mallards, attempted to crawl within gunshot of it.