e five shots? The hunters gazed blankly at one
another, mute questioning in their eyes. Without speaking, Mukoki
pointed suggestively to the clearer channel of the river beyond the
cedars. Evidently he thought the shots had come from there. Wabi shook
his head.

"There was no trail," he whispered. "Nobody has crossed the river."

"I thought they were there!" breathed Rod. He pointed into the forest.
"But Mukoki said no."

For a long time the three stood and listened. Half a mile back in the
forest they heard the howl of a single wolf, and Wabi flashed a curious
glance into the eyes of the old Indian.

"That's a man's cry," he whispered. "The wolf has struck a human trail.
It isn't mine!"

"Nor ours," replied Rod.

This one long howl of the wolf was the only sound that broke the
stillness of approaching night. Mukoki turned, and the others followed
in his trail. A quarter of a mile farther on the stream became still
narrower and plunged between great masses of rock which rose into wild
and precipitous hills that were almost mountains a little way back. No
longer could the hunters now follow the channel of the rushing torrent.
Through a break in a gigantic wall of rock and huge boulders led the
trail of Rod and Mukoki. Ten minutes more and the three had clambered to
the top of the ridge where, in the lee of a great rock, the remains of a
fire were still burning. Here the old Indian and his companion had
struck camp and were waiting for Wabigoon when they heard the shots
which they, too, believed were those of an ambush.

A comfortable shelter of balsam had already been erected against the
rock, and close beside the fire, where Mukoki had dropped it at the
sound of the shots, was a large piece of spitted venison. The situation
was ideal for a camp and after the hard day's tramp through the snow the
young wolf hunters regarded it with expressions of pleasure, in spite of
the enemies whom they knew might be lurking near them. Both Wabi and Rod
had accepted the place as their night's home, and were stirring up the
fire, when their attention was drawn to the singular attitude of Mukoki.
The old warrior stood leaning on his rifle, speechless and motionless,
his eyes regarding the process of rekindling the fire with mute
disapprobation. Wabi, poised on one knee, looked at him questioningly.

"No make more fire," said the old Indian, shaking his head. "No dare
stay here. Go on--beyond mountain!"

Mukoki straightened hi