t themselves. By the time complete darkness had fallen
the "trap" was finished, with the exception of a detail which Rod
followed with great interest.

From inside his clothes, where it had been kept warm by his body, Mukoki
produced the flask of blood. A third of this blood he scattered upon the
face of the rock and upon the snow at its base. The remainder he
distributed, drop by drop, in trails running toward the swamp and
plains.

There still remained three hours before the moon would be up, and the
hunters now joined Wolf, who had been fastened half-way up the ridge. In
the shelter of a big rock a small fire was built, and during their long
wait the hunters passed the time away by broiling and eating chunks of
venison and in going over again the events of the day.

It was nine o'clock before the moon rose above the edge of the
wilderness. This great orb of the Northern night seemed to hold a
never-ending fascination for Rod. It crept above the forests, a glowing,
throbbing ball of red, quivering and palpitating in an effulgence that
neither cloud nor mist dimmed in this desolation beyond the sphere of
man; and as it rose, almost with visible movement to the eyes, the blood
in it faded, until at last it seemed a great blaze of soft light between
silver and gold. It was then that the whole world was lighted up under
it. It was then that Mukoki, speaking softly, beckoned the others to
follow him, and with Wolf at his side went down the ridge.

Making a circuit around the back of the rock, Mukoki paused near a small
sapling twenty yards from the dead buck and secured Wolf by his babeesh
thong. Hardly had he done so when the animal began to exhibit signs of
excitement. He trotted about nervously, sniffing the air, gathering the
wind from every direction, and his jaws dropped with a snarling whine.
Then he struck one of the clots of blood in the snow.

"Come," whispered Wabi, pulling at Rod's sleeve, "come--quietly."

They slipped back among the shadows of the spruce and watched Wolf in
unbroken silence. The animal now stood rigidly over the blood clot. His
head was level with his quivering back, his ears half aslant, his
nostrils pointing to a strange thrilling scent that came to him from
somewhere out there in the moonlight. Once more the instinct of his
breed was flooding the soul of the captive wolf. There was the odor of
blood in his widening nostrils. It was not the blood of the camp, of the
slaughtered game d