That same day Wabi began his work of digging out and resetting the traps, but it was not until the day following that Rod's eyes would allow him to a.s.sist. The task was a most difficult one; rocks and other landmarks were completely hidden, and the lost traps averaged one out of four. It was not until the end of the second day after Mukoki's departure that the young hunters finished the mountain trap-line, and when they turned their faces toward camp just at the beginning of dusk it was with the expectant hope that they would find the old Indian awaiting them. But Mukoki had not returned. The next day came and pa.s.sed, and a fourth dawned without his arrival. Hope now gave way to fear. In three days Mukoki could travel nearly a hundred miles. Was it possible that something had happened to him? Many times there recurred to Rod a thought of the Woonga in the chasm. Had the mysterious spy, or some of his people, waylaid and killed him?

Neither of the hunters had a desire to leave camp during the fourth day.

Trapping was exceptionally good now on account of the scarcity of animal food and since the big storm they had captured a wolf, two lynx, a red fox and eight mink. But as Mukoki's absence lengthened their enthusiasm grew less.

In the afternoon, as they were watching, they saw a figure climb wearily to the summit of the hill.

It was Mukoki.

With shouts of greeting both youths hurried through the snow toward him, not taking time to strap on their snow-shoes. The old Indian was at their side a couple of minutes later. He smiled in a tired good-natured way, and answered the eagerness in their eyes with a nod of his head.

"Found fall. Fift' mile down mountain."

Once in the cabin he dropped into a chair, exhausted, and both Rod and Wabigoon joined in relieving him of his boots and outer garments. It was evident that Mukoki had been traveling hard, for only once or twice before in his life had Wabi seen him so completely fatigued. Quickly the young Indian had a huge steak broiling over the fire, and Rod put an extra handful of coffee in the pot.

"Fifty miles!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Wabi for the twentieth time. "It was an awful jaunt, wasn't it, Muky?"

"Rough--rough like devil th'ough mountains," replied Mukoki. "Not like that!" He swung an arm in the direction of the chasm.

Rod stood silent, open-eyed with wonder. Was it possible that the old warrior had discovered a wilder country than that through which he had pa.s.sed in the chasm?

"She little fall," went on Mukoki, brightening as the odor of coffee and meat filled his nostrils. "No bigger than--that!" He pointed to the roof of the cabin.

Rod was figuring on the table. Soon he looked up.

"According to Mukoki and the map we are at least two hundred and fifty miles from the third fall," he said.

Mukoki shrugged his shoulders and his face was crinkled in a suggestive grimace.

"Hudson Bay," he grunted.

Wabi turned from his steak in sudden astonishment.

"Doesn't the chasm continue east?" he almost shouted.

"No. She turn--straight north."

Rod could not understand the change that came over Wabi's face.

"Boys," he said finally, "if that is the case I can tell you where the gold is. If the stream in the chasm turns northward it is bound for just one place--the Albany River, and the Albany River empties into James Bay! The third waterfall, where our treasure in gold is waiting for us, is in the very heart of the wildest and most savage wilderness in North America. It is safe. No other man has ever found it. But to get it means one of the longest and most adventurous expeditions we ever planned in all our lives!"

"Hurrah!" shouted Rod. "Hurrah--"

He had leaped to his feet, forgetful of everything but that their gold was safe, and that their search for it would lead them even to the last fastnesses of the snow-bound and romantic North.

"Next spring, Wabi!" He held out his hand and the two boys joined their pledge in a hearty grip.

"Next spring!" reiterated Wabi.

"And we go in canoe," joined Mukoki. "Creek grow bigger. We make birch-bark canoe at first fall."

"That is better still," added Wabi. "It will be a glorious trip! We'll take a little vacation at the third fall and run up to James Bay."

"James Bay is practically the same as Hudson Bay, isn't it?" asked Rod.

"Yes. I could never see a good reason for calling it James Bay. It is in reality the lower end, or tail, of Hudson Bay."

There was no thought of visiting any of the traps that day, and the next morning Mukoki insisted upon going with Rod, in spite of his four days of hard travel. If he remained in camp his joints would get stiff, he said, and Wabigoon thought he was right. This left the young Indian to care for the trap-line leading into the north.

Two weeks of ideal trapping weather now followed. It had been more than two months since the hunters had left Wabinosh House, and Rod now began to count the days before they would turn back over the homeward trail.

Wabi had estimated that they had sixteen hundred dollars' worth of furs and scalps and two hundred dollars in gold, and the white youth was satisfied to return to his mother with his share of six hundred dollars, which was as much as he would have earned in a year at his old position in the city. Neither did he attempt to conceal from Wabi his desire to see Minnetaki; and his Indian friend, thoroughly pleased at Rod's liking for his sister, took much pleasure in frequent good-natured banter on the subject. In fact, Rod possessed a secret hope that he might induce the princess mother to allow her daughter to accompany himself and Wabi to Detroit, where he knew that his own mother would immediately fall in love with the beautiful little maiden from the North.

In the third week after the great storm Rod and Mukoki had gone over the mountain trap-line, leaving Wabi in camp. They had decided that the following week would see them headed for Wabinosh House, where they would arrive about the first of February, and Roderick was in high spirits.

On this day they had started toward camp early in the afternoon, and soon after they had pa.s.sed through the swamp Rod expressed his intention of ascending the ridge, hoping to get a shot at game somewhere along the mountain trail home. Mukoki, however, decided not to accompany him, but to take the nearer and easier route.

On the top of the mountain Rod paused to take a survey of the country about him. He could see Mukoki, now hardly more than a moving speck on the edge of the plain; northward the same fascinating, never-ending wilderness rolled away under his eyes; eastward, two miles away, he saw a moving object which he knew was a moose or a caribou; and westward--

Instinctively his eyes sought the location of their camp. Instantly the expectant light went out of his face. He gave an involuntary cry of horror, and there followed it a single, unheard shriek for Mukoki.

Over the spot where he knew their camp to be now rose a huge volume of smoke. The sky was black with it, and in the terrible moment that followed his piercing cry for Mukoki he fancied that he heard the sound of rifle-shots.

"Mukoki! Mukoki!" he shouted.

The old Indian was beyond hearing. Quickly it occurred to Rod that early in their trip they had arranged rifle signals for calling help--two quick shots, and then, after a moment's interval, three others in rapid succession.

He threw his rifle to his shoulder and fired into the air; once, twice--and then three times as fast as he could press the trigger.

As he watched Mukoki he reloaded. He saw the Indian pause, turn about and look back toward the mountain.

Again the thrilling signals for help went echoing over the plains. In a few seconds the sounds had reached Mukoki's ears and the old warrior came swinging back at running speed.

Rod darted along the ridge to meet him, firing a single shot now and then to let him know where he was, and in fifteen minutes Mukoki came panting up the mountain.

"The Woongas!" shouted Rod. "They've attacked the camp! See!" He pointed to the cloud of smoke. "I heard shots--I heard shots--"

For an instant the grim pathfinder gazed in the direction of the burning camp, and then without a word he started at terrific speed down the mountain.

The half-hour race that followed was one of the most exciting experiences of Rod's life. How he kept up with Mukoki was more than he ever could explain afterward. But from the time they struck the old trail he was close at the Indian's heels. When they reached the hill that sheltered the dip his face was scratched and bleeding from contact with swinging bushes; his heart seemed ready to burst from its tremendous exertion; his breath came in an audible hissing, rattling sound, and he could not speak. But up the hill he plunged behind Mukoki, his rifle c.o.c.ked and ready. At the top they paused.

The camp was a smoldering ma.s.s of ruins. Not a sign of life was about it. But--

With a gasping, wordless cry Rod caught Mukoki's arm and pointed to an object lying in the snow a dozen yards from where the cabin had been.

The warrior had seen it. He turned one look upon the white youth, and it was a look that Rod had never thought could come into the face of a human being. If that was Wabi down there--if Wabi had been killed--what would Mukoki's vengeance be! His companion was no longer Mukoki--as he had known him; he was the savage. There was no mercy, no human instinct, no suggestion of the human soul in that one terrible look. If it was Wabi--

They plunged down the hill, into the dip, across the lake, and Mukoki was on his knees beside the figure in the snow. He turned it over--and rose without a sound, his battle-glaring eyes peering into the smoking ruins.

Rod looked, and shuddered.

The figure in the snow was not Wabi.