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 th