efore they would turn back over the homeward trail.
Wabi had estimated that they had sixteen hundred dollars' worth of furs
and scalps and two hundred dollars in gold, and the white youth was
satisfied to return to his mother with his share of six hundred dollars,
which was as much as he would have earned in a year at his old position
in the city. Neither did he attempt to conceal from Wabi his desire to
see Minnetaki; and his Indian friend, thoroughly pleased at Rod's liking
for his sister, took much pleasure in frequent good-natured banter on
the subject. In fact, Rod possessed a secret hope that he might induce
the princess mother to allow her daughter to accompany himself and Wabi
to Detroit, where he knew that his own mother would immediately fall in
love with the beautiful little maiden from the North.

In the third week after the great storm Rod and Mukoki had gone over the
mountain trap-line, leaving Wabi in camp. They had decided that the
following week would see them headed for Wabinosh House, where they
would arrive about the first of February, and Roderick was in high
spirits.

On this day they had started toward camp early in the afternoon, and
soon after they had passed through the swamp Rod expressed his intention
of ascending the ridge, hoping to get a shot at game somewhere along the
mountain trail home. Mukoki, however, decided not to accompany him, but
to take the nearer and easier route.

On the top of the mountain Rod paused to take a survey of the country
about him. He could see Mukoki, now hardly more than a moving speck on
the edge of the plain; northward the same fascinating, never-ending
wilderness rolled away under his eyes; eastward, two miles away, he saw
a moving object which he knew was a moose or a caribou; and westward--

Instinctively his eyes sought the location of their camp. Instantly the
expectant light went out of his face. He gave an involuntary cry of
horror, and there followed it a single, unheard shriek for Mukoki.

Over the spot where he knew their camp to be now rose a huge volume of
smoke. The sky was black with it, and in the terrible moment that
followed his piercing cry for Mukoki he fancied that he heard the sound
of rifle-shots.

"Mukoki! Mukoki!" he shouted.

The old Indian was beyond hearing. Quickly it occurred to Rod that early
in their trip they had arranged rifle signals for calling help--two
quick shots, and then, after a moment's interval, three others in