eelings to Wabi. The Indian youth at once suggested a happy remedy.
They would take turns in using his gun, Rod to have it one day and he
the next; and Wabi's heavy revolver would also change hands, so that the
one who did not possess the rifle would be armed with the smaller
weapon. This solution of the difficulty lifted a dampening burden from
Rod's heart, and when the little party began its descent into the
wilderness regions under the mountain the city lad carried the rifle,
for Wabi insisted that he have the first "turn."

Once free of the rock-strewn ridge the two boys joined forces in pulling
the toboggan while Mukoki struck out a trail ahead of them. As it became
lighter Rod found his eyes glued with keen interest to Mukoki's
snow-shoes, and for the first time in his life he realized what it
really meant to "make a trail." The old Indian was the most famous
trailmaker as well as the keenest trailer of his tribe, and in the
comparatively open bottoms through which they were now traveling he was
in his element. His strides were enormous, and with each stride he threw
up showers of snow, leaving a broad level path behind him in which the
snow was packed by his own weight, so that when Wabi and Rod came to
follow him they were not impeded by sinking into a soft surface.

Half a mile from the mountain Mukoki stopped and waited for the others
to come up to him.

"Moose!" he called, pointing at a curious track in the snow.

Rod leaned eagerly over the track.

"The snow is still crumbling and falling where he stepped," said Wabi.
"Watch that little chunk, Rod. See--it's slipping--down--down--there! It
was an old bull--a big fellow--and he passed here less than an hour
ago."

Signs of the night carnival of the wild things now became more and more
frequent as the hunters advanced. They crossed and recrossed the trail
of a fox; and farther on they discovered where this little pirate of
darkness had slaughtered a big white rabbit. The snow was covered with
blood and hair and part of the carcass remained uneaten. Again Wabi
forgot his determination to waste no time and paused to investigate.

"Now, if we only knew what kind of a fox he was!" he exclaimed to Rod.
"But we don't. All we know is that he's a fox. And all fox tracks are
alike, no matter what kind of a fox makes them. If there was only some
difference our fortunes would be made!"

"How?" asked Rod.

Mukoki chuckled as if the mere thought of such a possibi