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Mukoki spoke no word but ran back to the camp and threw a great armful of dry fuel upon the fire. Wabigoon still remained at the edge of the pool, dripping and shivering. His hands were clenched, and Rod could see that they were filled with sand and gravel. Mechanically the Indian opened his fingers and looked at what he had unconsciously brought up from under the fall.
"Because they didn't want you, and they were sure they'd reach their camp before you took up the trail. I was their prize. With me in their power they figured on communicating with you and Mukoki and sending you back to the Post with their terms. They would have bled father to his last cent and then killed me. Oh, they talked pretty plainly to me when they thought they had me!"
It was then that David made his first break in the etiquette of the forests; a fortunate one, as time proved. He did not know that shaking hands with an Indian was a matter of some formality, and so when Father Roland said, "This is Mukoki, who has been with me for many years," David thrust out his hand.
Neither Rod nor Wahigoon recognized it until the old warrior halted the dogs close in its shadows and they saw the look of triumph in his face. "The camp!" breathed Wabi. "The camp!" Trembling, his voice quivering with suppressed excitement, the Indian youth turned to Roderick Drew. "Rod it's all up to you!" Mukoki, too, had come close to his side. "There camp!" he whispered.
No sooner were the two boys convinced of the correctness of Mukoki's assertion than another and still more startling surprise was sprung on them. Holding out his handful of bones, Mukoki said: "Meat no cook eat raw!" "Great Scott!" gasped Rod. Wabi's eyes flashed with a new understanding, and as he gazed into Rod's astonished face the latter, too, began to comprehend the significance of it all.
The outlaw Indians and their captives had rested here for a brief spell, and had built a fire, and so many feet had beaten the snow about it that their traces still remained. He pointed to these signs as Mukoki and Wabigoon joined him. For several minutes no one of the three spoke a word.
"He will be with them to-night, m'sieu that outlaw!" Not until the crack of Mukoki's long, caribou-gut whip had set the Missioner's eight dogs tense and alert in their traces did Father Roland return for a moment into the cabin to give Marie the locket. He came back quickly, and at a signal from him Mukoki wound up the 9-foot lash of his whip and set out ahead of the dogs.
That's a man back there, a man who has suffered and starved, starved, mind you! until he's mad, stark mad! It would be worse than murder to kill him!" He stopped, and Mukoki drew back a step, breathing deeply. "Heem starve no eat gone bad dog?" he questioned softly. In an instant Wabi was at his side.
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.
And the old warrior moved not a muscle until far away, miles and miles, it seemed, there died the last echo of it, and only the whispering winds rustled over the mountain top. If Mukoki had been a white man he would have analyzed in some way the meaning of those strange cries.
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