d reached for
his rifle, which had slipped between his knees, and as he did so the
lynx sent forth another of its blood-curdling screams. Even now the
white youth shivered at the sound, so much like the terrible cry of
some person in dying agony. He leveled his gun. There was a flash in
the moonlight, a sharp report, and a shout from the direction of the
camp. In another moment Rod was upon his feet, and sorry that he had
shot. It flashed upon him that he might have watched the lynx, one of
the night pirates of all this strange wilderness, and that its pelt,
at this season, would be worthless. He went to the rock cautiously.
The lynx was not there. He walked around it, holding his rifle in
readiness for attack. The lynx was gone. He had made a clean miss!

Both Mukoki and Wabigoon met him on the opposite side of the rock.

"'Nother heap big Woonga," grinned the old pathfinder remembering
Rod's former adventure on this same plateau. "Kill?"

"Missed!" said Rod shortly. "What a scream that was! Ugh!"

This time he went to bed with the others, and slept until early dawn.
The morning was one of those rare gifts of budding spring, warm and
redolent with the sweetness of new life, and its beauty acted as a
tonic on the three adventurers. Their fears of the day before were
gone, and with song and whistle and cheery voice they began the
descent of the mountain. Mukoki went on ahead of Rod and Wabigoon with
his pack, and the two boys had not made more than two of the six miles
in the portage across the plain when he met them again, returning for
his second load. By noon the canoe and its contents were safely at
the creek, and the gold hunters halted until after dinner. The little
stream across which Rod had easily leaped without wetting his feet a
few weeks before had swollen into a fair-sized river, and in places
its searching waters had formed tiny lakes. Unlike the Ombabika,
sweeping down from its mountain heights, there was but little current
here, a fact that immensely pleased Mukoki and his companions.

"We near mak' cabin to-night," said the old Indian. "I take load
to-night."

During the two hours' paddle up-stream Mukoki spoke but little, and as
they approached nearer to their last winter's thrilling fight with the
Woongas, in which they had so nearly lost their lives, he ceased even
to respond by nod or grunt to the conversation of his companions. Once
Wabigoon spoke again of Wolf, and for an instant the old Indi