g on
his comrades. But even now, though the trail was fresher and deeper, so
disguised had it become by falling snow that a passing hunter might have
thought a moose or caribou had passed that way.

At the end of the third hour, by which time he figured that he had made
at least ten miles, Wabi sat down to rest, and to refresh himself with
the lunch which he had taken from the camp that morning. He was
surprised at Rod's endurance. That Mukoki and the white boy were still
three or four miles ahead of him he did not doubt, unless they, too, had
stopped for dinner. This, on further thought, he believed was highly
probable.

The wilderness about him was intensely still. Not even the twitter of a
snow-bird marred its silence. For a long time Wabi sat as immovable as
the log upon which he had seated himself, resting and listening. Such a
day as this held a peculiar and unusual fascination for him. It was as
if the whole world was shut out, and that even the wild things of the
forest dared not go abroad in this supreme moment of Nature's handiwork,
when with lavish hand she spread the white mantle that was to stretch
from the border to Hudson Bay.

As he listened there came to him suddenly a sound that forced from
between his lips a half-articulate cry. It was the clear, ringing report
of a rifle! And following it there came another, and another, until in
quick succession he had counted five!

What did it mean? He sprang to his feet, his heart thumping, every nerve
in him prepared for action. He would have sworn it was Mukoki's
rifle--yet Mukoki would not have fired at game! They had agreed upon
that.

Had Rod and the old Indian been attacked? In another instant Wabi was
bounding over the trail with the speed of a deer.

CHAPTER V

MYSTERIOUS SHOTS IN THE WILDERNESS

As the Indian youth sped over the trail in the direction of the
rifle-shots he flung his usual caution to the winds. His blood thrilled
with the knowledge that there was not a moment to lose--that even now,
in all probability, he would be too late to assist his friends. This
fear was emphasized by the absolute silence which followed the five
shots. Eagerly, almost prayerfully, he listened as he ran for other
sounds of battle--for the report of Mukoki's revolver, or the whoops of
the victors. If there had been an ambush it was all over now. Each
moment added to his conviction, and as he thrust the muzzle of his gun
ahead of him, his finger hoverin