ncied that he heard
the striking of two objects, as though a rifle barrel had accidentally
come into contact with the dead limb of a tree.

Suddenly the Indian youth imagined that he saw something--an indistinct
shadow that came in the snow gloom, then disappeared, and came again. He
brushed the water and snow from his eyes with one of his mittened hands
and stared hard and steadily. Once more the shadow disappeared, then
came again, larger and more distinct than before. There was no doubt
now. Whatever had startled the moose-bird was coming slowly,
noiselessly.

Wabi brought his rifle to his shoulder. Life and death hovered with his
anxious, naked finger over the gun trigger. But he was too well trained
in the ways of the wilderness to fire just yet. Yard by yard the shadow
approached, and divided itself into two shadows. Wabi could now see that
they were men. They were advancing in a cautious, crouching attitude, as
though they expected to meet enemies somewhere ahead of them. Wabi's
heart thumped with joy. There could be no surer sign that Mukoki and Rod
were still among the living, for why should the Woongas employ this
caution if they had already successfully ambushed the hunters? With the
chill of a cold hand at his throat the answer flashed into Wabigoon's
brain. His friends had been ambushed, and these two Woongas were
stealing back over the trail to slay him!

Very slowly, very gently, the young Indian's finger pressed against the
trigger of his rifle. A dozen feet more, and then--

The shadows had stopped, and now drew together as if in consultation.
They were not more than twenty yards away, and for a moment Wabi lowered
his rifle and listened hard. He could hear the low unintelligible
mutterings of their conversation. Then there came to him a single
incautious reply from one of the shadows.

"All right!"

Surely that was not the English of a Woonga! It sounded like--

In a flash Wabi had called softly.

"Ho, Muky--Muky--Rod!"

In another moment the three wolf hunters were together, silently
wringing one another's hands, the death-like pallor of Rod's face and
the tense lines in the bronzed countenances of Mukoki and Wabigoon
plainly showing the tremendous strain they had been under.

"You shoot?" whispered Mukoki.

"No!" replied Wabi, his eyes widening in surprise. "Didn't _you_ shoot?"

"No!"

Only the one word fell from the old Indian, but it was filled with a new
warning. Who had fired th