ctedly one of his hands came in contact with the barrel of
Wabi's rifle. The touch of the cold steel aroused him. There was no time
to awaken his companions. Even as he drew the gun to him he saw the
object grow larger and larger at the end of the rock, until it stood
crouching, as if about to spring.

One bated breath--a thunderous report--a snarling scream of pain, and
the camp was awake!

"We're attacked!" cried Rod. "Quick--Wabi--Mukoki!"

The white boy was on his knees now, the smoking rifle still leveled
toward the rocks. Out there, in the thick shadows beyond the fire, a
body was groveling and kicking in death agonies. In another instant the
gaunt form of the old warrior was beside Rod, his rifle at his shoulder,
and over their heads reached Wabigoon's arm, the barrel of his heavy
revolver glinting in the firelight.

For a full minute they crouched there, breathless, waiting.

"They've gone!" broke Wabi in a tense whisper.

"I got one of them!" replied Rod, his voice trembling with excitement.

Mukoki slipped back and burrowed a hole through the side of the shelter.
He could see nothing. Slowly he slipped out, his rifle ready. The others
could hear him as he went. Foot by foot the old warrior slunk along in
the deep gloom toward the end of the rock. Now he was almost there,
now--

The young hunters saw him suddenly straighten. There came to them a low
chuckling grunt. He bent over, seized an object, and flung it in the
light of the fire.

"Heap big Woonga! Kill nice fat lynx!"

With a wail, half feigned, half real, Rod flung himself back upon the
balsam while Wabi set up a roar that made the night echo. Mukoki's face
was creased in a broad grin.

"Heap big Woonga--heem!" he repeated, chuckling. "Nice fat lynx shot
well in face. No look like bad man Woonga to Mukoki!"

When Rod finally emerged from his den to join the others his face was
flushed and wore what Wabi described as a "sheepish grin."

"It's all right for you fellows to make fun of me," he declared. "But
what if they had been Woongas? By George, if we're ever attacked again I
won't do a thing. I'll let you fellows fight 'em off!"

In spite of the general merriment at his expense, Rod was immensely
proud of his first lynx. It was an enormous creature of its kind, drawn
by hunger to the scraps of the camp-fire feast; and it was this animal,
as it cautiously inspected the camp, that the young hunter had heard
crunching in the snow. Wolf, w