see
Mukoki as he stopped and lifted a hand to test the wind. Then he
crouched, advancing foot by foot, yard by yard, so slowly that he seemed
to be on his hands and knees.

"He can hear them, but he can't see them!" breathed Wabigoon. "See! He
places his ear to the ground! Now he has got his bearings again--as
straight as a die! Good old Muky!"

The old Indian crept on. In his excitement Rod clenched his hands and he
seemed to live without breathing. Would Mukoki never shoot? Would he
_never_ shoot? He seemed now to be within a stone's throw of the herd.

"How far, Wabi?"

"Four hundred yards, perhaps five," replied the Indian. "It's a long
shot! He can't see them yet."

Rod gripped his companion's arm.

Mukoki had stopped. Down and down he slunk, until he became only a blot
in the snow.

"Now!"

There came a moment of startled silence. In the midst of their play the
animals in the open stood for a single instant paralyzed by a knowledge
of impending danger, and in that instant there came to the young hunters
the report of Mukoki's rifle.

"No good!" cried Wabi.

In his excitement he leaped to his feet. The caribou had turned and the
whole eight of them were racing across the open. Another shot, and
another--three in quick succession, and one of the fleeing animals fell,
scrambled to its knees--and plunged on again! A fifth shot--the last in
Mukoki's rifle! Again the wounded animal fell, struggled to its
knees--to its forefeet--and fell again.

"Good work! Five hundred yards if it was a foot!" exclaimed Wabigoon
with a relieved laugh. "Fresh steak for supper, Rod!"

Mukoki came out into the open, reloading his rifle. Quickly he moved
across the wilderness playground, now crimson with blood, unsheathed his
knife, and dropped upon his knees close to the throat of the slain
animal.

"I'll go down and give him a little help, Rod," said Wabi. "Your legs
are pretty sore, and it's a hard climb down there; so if you will keep
up the fire, Mukoki and I will bring back the meat."

During the next hour Rod busied himself with collecting firewood for the
night and in practising with his snow-shoes. He was astonished to find
how swiftly and easily he could travel in them, and was satisfied that
he could make twenty miles a day even as a tenderfoot.

Left to his own thoughts he found his mind recurring once more to the
Woongas and Minnetaki. Why was Wabi worried? Inwardly he did not believe
that it was a dream a