"Big moon--might get shot," grunted Mukoki. "See lynx on hill. See wolf-tracks on red deer trail. No shot."

This was as much of the history of Mukoki's night on the trail as the boys could secure, but during their breakfast Wabi shot another glance at Rod, and as Mukoki left the table for a moment to close the damper in the stove he found an opportunity to whisper:

"See if I'm not right. He will choose the mountain trail." When their companion returned, he said: "We had better split up this morning, hadn't we, Muky? It looks to me as though there are two mighty good lines for traps--one over the hill, where that creek leads off through the range of ridges to the east, and the other along the creek which runs through the hilly plains to the north. What do you think of it?"

"Good" agreed the old hunter. "You two go north--I take ridges."

"No, you and I will take the ridges and Wabi will go north alone,"

amended Rod quickly. "I'm going with you, Mukoki!"

Mukoki, who was somewhat flattered by this preference of the white youth, grinned and chuckled and began to talk more volubly about the plans which were in his head. It was agreed that they all would return to the cabin at an early hour in the afternoon, for the old Indian seemed positive that they would have their first wolf hunt that night.

Rod noticed that the captive wolf received no breakfast that morning, and he easily guessed the reason.

The traps were now divided. Three different sizes had been brought from the Post--fifty small ones for mink, marten and other small fur animals; fifteen fox traps, and as many larger ones for lynx and wolves. Wabi equipped himself with twenty of the small traps and four each of fox and lynx traps, while Rod and Mukoki took about forty in all. The remainder of the caribou meat was then cut into chunks and divided equally among them for bait.

The sun was just beginning to show itself above the wilderness when the hunters left camp. As Mukoki had predicted, it was a glorious day, one of those bitterly cold, cloudless days when, as the Indians believe, the great Creator robs the rest of the world of the sun that it may shine in all its glory upon their own savage land. From the top of the hill that sheltered their home Rod looked out over the glistening forests and lakes in rapt and speechless admiration; but only for a few moments did the three pause, then took up their different trails.

At the foot of this hill Mukoki and his companion struck the creek. They had not progressed more than fifty rods when the old Indian stopped and pointed at a fallen log which spanned the stream. The snow on this log was beaten by tiny footprints. Mukoki gazed a moment, cast an observant eye along the trail, and at once threw off his pack.

"Mink!" he explained. He crossed the frozen creek, taking care not to touch the log. On the opposite side the tracks spread out over a windfall of trees. "Whole family mink live here," continued Mukoki.

"T'ree--mebby four--mebby five. Build trap-house right here!"

Never before had Rod seen a trap set as the old Indian now set his. Very near the end of the log over which the mink made their trail he quickly built a shelter of sticks which when completed was in the form of a tiny wigwam. At the back of this was placed a chunk of the caribou meat, and in front of this bait, so that an animal would have to spring it in pa.s.sing, was set a trap, carefully covered with snow and a few leaves.

Within twenty minutes Mukoki had built two of these shelters and had set two traps.

"Why do you build those little houses?" asked Rod, as they again took up their trail.

"Much snow come in winter," elucidated the Indian. "Build house to keep snow off traps. No do that, be digging out traps all winter. When mink--heem smell meat--go in house he got to go over trap. Make house for all small animal like heem. No good for lynx. He see house--walk roun' 'n' roun' 'n' roun'--and then go 'way. Smart fellow--lynx. Wolf and fox, too."

"Is a mink worth much?"

"Fi' dollar--no less that. Seven--eight dollar for good one."

During the next mile six other mink traps were set. The creek now ran along the edge of a high rocky ridge and Mukoki's eyes began to shine with a new interest. No longer did he seem entirely absorbed in the discovery of signs of fur animals. His eyes were constantly scanning the sun-bathed side of the ridge ahead and his progress was slow and cautious. He spoke in whispers, and Rod followed his example. Frequently the two would stop and scan the openings for signs of life. Twice they set fox traps where there were evident signs of runways; in a wild ravine, strewn with tumbled trees and ma.s.ses of rock, they struck a lynx track and set a trap for him at each end of the ravine; but even during these operations Mukoki's interest was divided. The hunters now walked abreast, about fifty yards apart, Rod never forging a foot ahead of the cautious Mukoki. Suddenly the youth heard a low call and he saw his companion beckoning to him with frantic enthusiasm.

"Wolf!" whispered Mukoki as Rod joined him.

In the snow were a number of tracks that reminded Rod of those made by a dog.

"T'ree wolf!" continued the Indian jubilantly. "Travel early this morning. Somewhere in warm sun on mountain!"

They followed now in the wolf trail. A little way on Rod found part of the carca.s.s of a rabbit with fox tracks about it. Here Mukoki set another trap. A little farther still they came across a fisher trail and another trap was laid. Caribou and deer tracks crossed and recrossed the creek, but the Indian paid little attention to them. A fourth wolf joined the pack, and a fifth, and half an hour later the trail of three other wolves cut at right angles across the one they were following and disappeared in the direction of the thickly timbered plains. Mukoki's face was crinkled with joy.

"Many wolf near," he exclaimed. "Many wolf off there 'n' off there 'n'

off there. Good place for night hunt."

Soon the creek swung out from the ridge and cut a circuitous channel through a small swamp. Here there were signs of wild life which set Rod's heart thumping and his blood tingling with excitement. In places the snow was literally packed with deer tracks. Trails ran in every direction, the bark had been rubbed from scores of saplings, and every step gave fresh evidence of the near presence of game. The stealth with which Mukoki now advanced was almost painful. Every twig was pressed behind him noiselessly, and once when Rod struck his snow-shoe against the b.u.t.t of a small tree the old Indian held up his hands in mock horror. Ten minutes, fifteen--twenty of them pa.s.sed in this cautious, breathless trailing of the swamp.

Suddenly Mukoki stopped, and a hand was held out behind him warningly.

He turned his face back, and Rod knew that he saw game. Inch by inch he crouched upon his snow-shoes, and beckoned for Rod to approach, slowly, quietly. When the boy had come near enough he pa.s.sed back his rifle, and his lips formed the almost noiseless word, "Shoot!"

Tremblingly Rod seized the gun and looked into the swamp ahead, Mukoki doubling down in front of him. What he saw sent him for a moment into the first nervous tremor of buck fever. Not more than a hundred yards away stood a magnificent buck browsing the tips of a clump of hazel, and just beyond him were two does. With a powerful effort Rod steadied himself. The buck was standing broadside, his head and neck stretched up, offering a beautiful shot at the vital spot behind his fore leg. At this the young hunter aimed and fired. With one spasmodic bound the animal dropped dead.

Hardly had Rod seen the effect of his shot before Mukoki was traveling swiftly toward the fallen game, unstrapping his pack as he ran. By the time the youth reached his quarry the old Indian had produced a large whisky flask holding about a quart. Without explanation he now proceeded to thrust his knife into the quivering animal's throat and fill this flask with blood. When he had finished his task he held it up with an air of unbounded satisfaction.

"Blood for wolf. Heem like blood. Smell um--come make big shoot to-night. No blood, no bait--no wolf shoot!"

Mukoki no longer maintained his usual quiet, and it was evident to Rod that the Indian considered his mission for that day practically accomplished. After taking the heart, liver and one of the hind quarters of the buck Mukoki drew a long rope of babeesh from his pack, tied one end of it around the animal's neck, flung the other end over a near limb, and with his companion's a.s.sistance hoisted the carca.s.s until it was clear of the ground.

"If somethin' happen we no come back to-night heem safe from wolf," he explained.

The two now continued through the swamp. At its farther edge the ground rose gently from the creek toward the hills, and this sloping plain was covered with huge boulders and a thin growth of large spruce and birch.

Just beyond the creek was a gigantic rock which immediately caught Mukoki's attention. All sides except one were too precipitous for ascent, and even this one could not be climbed without the a.s.sistance of a sapling or two. They could see, however, that the top of the, rock was flat, and Mukoki called attention to this fact with an exultant chuckle.

"Fine place for wolf hunt!" he exclaimed. "Many wolf off there in swamp an' in hill. We call heem here. Shoot from there!" He pointed to a clump of spruce a dozen rods away.

By Rod's watch it was now nearly noon and the two sat down to eat the sandwiches they had brought with them. Only a few minutes were lost in taking up the home trail. Beyond the swamp Mukoki cut at right angles to their trap-line until he had ascended to the top of the ridge that had been on their right and which would take them very near their camp. From this ridge Rod could look about him upon a wild and rugged scene. On one side it sloped down to the plains, but on the other it fell in almost sheer walls, forming at its base five hundred feet below a narrow and gloomy chasm, through which a small stream found its way. Several times Mukoki stopped and leaned perilously close to the dizzy edge of the mountain, peering down with critical eyes, and once when he pulled himself back cautiously by means of a small sapling he explained his interest by saying:

"Plenty bear there in spring!"

But Rod was not thinking of bears. Once more his head was filled with the thought of gold. Perhaps that very chasm held the priceless secret that had died with its owners half a century ago. The dark and gloomy silence that hung between those two walls of rock, the death-like desolation, the stealthy windings of the creek--everything in that dim and mysterious world between the two mountains, unshattered by sound and impenetrable to the winter sun, seemed in his mind to link itself with the tragedy of long ago.

Did that chasm hold the secret of the dead men?

Again and again Rod found himself asking this question as he followed Mukoki, and the oftener he asked it the nearer he seemed to an answer, until at last, with a curious, thrilling certainty that set his blood tingling he caught Mukoki by the arm and pointing back, said:

"Mukoki--the gold was found between those mountains!"

CHAPTER IX

WOLF TAKES VENGEANCE UPON HIS PEOPLE

From that hour was born in Roderick Drew's breast a strange, imperishable desire. Willingly at this moment would he have given up the winter trapping to have pursued that golden _ignis fatuus_ of all ages--the lure of gold. To him the story of the old cabin, the skeletons and the treasure of the buckskin bag was complete. Those skeletons had once been men. They had found a mine--a place where they had picked up nuggets with their fingers. And that treasure ground was somewhere near.

No longer was he puzzled by the fact that they had discovered no more gold in the old log cabin. In a flash he had solved that mystery. The men had just begun to gather their treasure when they had fought. What was more logical than that? One day, two, three--and they had quarreled over division, over rights. That was the time when they were most likely to quarrel. Perhaps one had discovered the gold and had therefore claimed a larger share. Anyway, the contents of the buckskin bag represented but a few days' labor. Rod was sure of that.

Mukoki had grinned and shrugged his shoulders with an air of stupendous doubt when Rod had told him that the gold lay between the mountains, so now the youth kept his thoughts to himself. It was a silent trail home.

Rod's mind was too active in its new channel, and he was too deeply absorbed in impressing upon his memory certain landmarks which they pa.s.sed to ask questions; and Mukoki, with the natural taciturnity of his race, seldom found occasion to break into conversation unless spoken to first. Although his eyes were constantly on the alert, Rod could see no way in which a descent could be made into the chasm from the ridge they were on. This was a little disappointing, for he had made up his mind to explore the gloomy, sunless gulch at his first opportunity. He had no doubt that Wabi would join in the adventure. Or he might take his own time, and explore it alone. He was reasonably sure that from somewhere on the opposite ridge a descent could be made into it.

Wabi was in camp when they arrived. He had set eighteen traps and had shot two spruce partridges. The birds were already cleaned for their early supper, and a thick slice of venison steak was added to the menu.

During the preparation of the meal Rod described their discovery of the chasm and revealed some of his thoughts concerning it, but Wabi betrayed only pa.s.sing flashes of interest. At times he seemed strangely preoccupied and would stand in an idle, contemplative mood, his hands buried deep in his pockets, while Rod or Mukoki proceeded with the little duties about the table or the stove. Finally, after arousing himself from one of these momentary spells, he pulled a bra.s.s sh.e.l.l from his pocket and held it out to the old Indian.

"See here," he said. "I don't want to stir up any false fears, or anything of that sort--but I found that on the trail to-day!"

Mukoki clutched at the sh.e.l.l as though it had been another newly found nugget of gold. The sh.e.l.l was empty. The lettering on the rim was still very distinct. He read ".35 Rem."