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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!"

When he finished his eyes met Rod's, Mukoki was still crouching at the foot of the stub, staring at the two boys in silence, as if stupefied by what he had just heard. "This doesn't leave a doubt," said Wabi at last. "We've struck the right place!" "The gold is somewhere very near " Rod could not master the tremble in his voice.

He rose and built the fire while the others were still sleeping. He attempted to open the door, but it was blocked. He lowered the barricade at the window, and a barrel of snow tumbled in about his feet. He could see no sign of day, and when he turned he saw Wabi sitting up in his blankets, laughing silently at his wonder and consternation. "What in the world " he gasped.

Outside Wabi and Mukoki heard a startled, partly suppressed cry. The boy's hands gripped the sides of the window. Fascinated, he stared down upon an object almost within arm's reach of him. There, leaning against the cabin wall, was what half a century or more ago had been a living man!

Not a sound fell from either of the youths' lips as they stared down upon the fierce, hungry outlaws of the wilderness. To Wabi this near view of the pack told a fateful story; to Rod it meant nothing more than the tragedy about to be enacted before his eyes.

He'll drown if we don't get him out," shouted Wabi. Rod leaped to the edge of the pool, with Mukoki between him and Wabigoon. Ready to spring into the cold depths at the first sign of the old man's gray head or struggling arms the three stood with every muscle ready for action. A second, two seconds, five seconds passed, and there was no sign of him.

The wounded boy repeated his question, and as if in reply the pack swerved to the west and in a black silent mass swept in a direction that would bring them into the tamaracks a hundred yards from the young hunters. "A new trail!" breathed Wabi. "A new trail, and a hot one! Listen! They make no sound. It is always that way when they are close to a kill!"

The two Indians were quickly at his side, and together they carried the unconscious form of Ball within the circle of torch-light. The old man's eyes were closed, his claw-like fingers were clenched fiercely upon his breast, and not until Mukoki placed a hand over his heart did the three know that he was still breathing. "Now is our time to get him to camp," said Wabi.

"Hurry!" shouted Wabi. "They see us!" Even as he spoke there came the crack of a rifle. Bzzzzzzz-inggggg! For the first time in his life Rod heard that terrible death-song of a bullet close to his head and saw the snow fly up a dozen feet beyond the young Indian. For an interval of twenty seconds there was silence; then there came another shot, and after that three others in quick succession.

Soon it dashed a swift racing torrent between the rocks, and Rod and his companions knew that they were close upon the fall. A hundred yards or more and they saw the white mist of it leaping up before their eyes. Wabi began to run, his moccasined feet springing from stone to stone with the caution of a hunter approaching game, and Mukoki and Rod came close behind him.